The Missing
by RebelSeeker01
Summary: Tess came to Roswell as a young girl, she became friends with the aliens, yet had to leave. Now she is back.
1. Chapter 1

The Missing

By K4Reader of the xsorbit4 rebelfic board.

Disclaimer: I take no credit in this story it was created by K4Reader, who does not own Roswell.

Part I

She's crying again.

That's all I think, as I hear the weeping begin. In the beginning, I would rush in, shake her awake from her nightmares and comfort her. Four, five times a night for months. I was losing so much sleep myself, that my husband, Philip, got sleeping pills. He gave them to me at night, and promised to wake our sweet little Isabel as soon as she began to cry.

He didn't, as I learned later. It was Max, our son. Max woke his sister when her dreams turned to nightmares. But he never showed how tired it must've made him. I think on some nights, that disturbing Guerin boy, who doesn't seem like a little boy at all most of the time, woke her and held her.

None of us ever dared to discuss it. Isabel hates to be weak. She is in the body of a child, but her soul is so much older…

I wonder sometimes, what kind of person would, no, could give up two such perfect children as mine. They are beautiful, they are dazzling intelligent, they are strong, they have never been sick and they are genuinely good and kind and sweet. Max is wise beyond his years, and Isabel is strong and mature beyond hers.

The Guerin boy is over here a lot. I don't see Max's wisdom or Isabel's sweetness in him. I see a sullen and suspicious boy. But he cares. He shocks me sometimes with little insights. He does things without being asked, or even told that they need to be done. He just observes, and acts. He never asks for thanks, or even tells me that he has done these little tasks. He gets embarrassed when I try to acknowledge what he has done. So I've stopped trying. Overtly that is. I leave little presents for him, where I know he'll find them. Isabel helps me, and Max does in his own way.

It's almost Christmas time, and all three of them are in the living room with the tree. Isabel was lecturing them about the way to tie the perfect bow on a Christmas present. The boys pretended to listen, but Michael made fun of her every time she turned her back.

It's good to see the boys laugh. They are both entirely too serious. Especially for Christmas. I longed to go in and share the joke with them, but my presence would spoil it entirely. I silently deposited a plate of Christmas cookies at the door and sneaked away.

It is two hours later. I finished the cookies and have moved on to pies. The laughter stopped an hour ago, and I peaked in to see them all asleep.

Isabel is crying, but before I can wake her, Michael, the Guerin boy, gets up and touches her shoulder. She awakens instantly. "I dreamt about her again." I hear my daughter whisper.

"Her?" Michael whispers back. "Vilandra or the fourth?"

Vilandra. What an alien word. A word I only heard once before, one night when I was trying to do as Philip and the doctors said. They told me she wept for the attention and that her night terrors were not real. They told me it would stop if I stopped going in to comfort her. I lasted forty-five minutes in my bedroom, listening to her sobs. I broke, and went in, to Philip's stern disapproval. Isabel was hysterical that night. She wailed that she was Vilandra, that she was a curse, that I must not love her, that I must send her away. Eventually I calmed her and she dropped to exhausted slumber. I never let her cry long into the night again.

Isabel and I never discussed that night, or any of the nights I woke her from her dreams. She tries to pretend during the day that the night is not a haunted time for her. But I am her mother. I know that she fears the night. I've talked to Philip about bringing her to see someone professional, but he persists in denying that there is a problem we can not handle.

I missed Isabel's answer by being caught in my own thoughts, but I think that tonight she dreamt of something else, something I have never heard about.

"Where is she? What's her life like?" Michael has asked.

The fourth. I think. Who or what could that be?

"She is looking for us. She's so lonely, and we abandoned her all alone in the world. A man came for her, and he wants to come for us too. She's so glad we got away from him. She wants to be away from him too. She tastes snow, but it isn't magic for her. Nothing tastes right to her. They're always running and hiding, but when she finds us, when she finds us we'll know."

The answer is so garbled it means nothing to me…except that Isabel said we. And the fourth… Is it possible that Max and Isabel see Michael as a part of them, a part of where they come from?

I listen again, as Michael says. "But she's okay?"

Isabel nods. "I think so." Her voice is a little wobbly.

"Then we'll find her. Someday Izzy, someday I'll be so big that no one'll ever hurt you or me or her or Max again."

"I know. And you're here now."

"Not for long. Your parents won't like it if I stay too late and maybe they'll say I can't see you or Max at all."

"They won't." Isabel says, and her faith is touching. "They're good. Mama and Daddy are good, and I love them, and I love you, so they'll love you. Besides, I feel safe when you are here."

I see Michael blush. "You have Max." He says, scorning emotion the way boys that age so often do.

"I need you and Max." She says, grabbing his hand. "Stay, please?"

No boy can say 'no' to Isabel, not even Philip. No man is safe from her wiles, but she doesn't realize it yet. That's part of her charm, at this point.

But Michael stayed. Later, when they were all sleeping again, I covered them with blankets. And for the first time since Isabel's night terrors began, she did not have another that night.

It was the greatest Christmas present I could ask for, even with the added burden of wondering how Michael is connected to my children…and wondering about this mystery girl Isabel cries for.


	2. Chapter 2

Part II-

It is Christmas Eve. We invited Michael to stay with us for Christmas. Right now, he and Max are asleep on Isabel's floor. They are in sleeping bags, and the giggling has finally stopped. The presents are beneath the tree, all wrapped and tied with perfect bows.

Philip grumbled, but we bought presents for Michael too. No child should ever go through Christmas without presents. I found a warm winter coat, new jeans, sneakers, and a dress shirt. Crayons (Isabel absolutely threw a fit when I tried to say no) drawing paper, and a Shakespeare play. All for a ten-year-old. A light of unreality flooded me, but I bought them, I wrapped them, and they are nestled beneath our tree.

I pretend sometimes, that Michael is one of mine too. I imagine that I would make him laugh, and chase the hunted look from his eyes. But, I must remember, he is not mine. Not really. He is only mine for Christmas. And he is a present in and of himself, just as Isabel and Max are.

It's Christmas morning, and my children are tearing into their presents. Isabel is reckless, with cries of joy and gratitude and love. Max is quieter, but pleased. Very pleased, especially with some books. Michael has opened all but one of his presents. He's sitting there, holding it in his lap, clutching it as though it will run away…or be taken away. I wonder what has scarred this child so. I look around at the pile, and realize that in this brightly wrapped package are the crayons and drawing pad.

"Michael, open it." I encourage.

Philip smiles jovially. Christmas has touched him just the way it always does. "Go ahead."

Michael drops his eyes. Isabel drops her sweater and goes over next to him. "It's all right, you'll like it."

Max nods.

Michael tears off the paper slowly, as if he is memorizing every second of this. His mouth opens, but no words come out as he lifts the box of crayons almost reverently. He looks right as Isabel, knowing instinctively that this is mostly her doing.

He whispers something in her ear that makes the princess blush like a rose. She looks even more beautiful, and Michael looks pleased with himself. Then he does something he has never done before, that I have always wished he would.

He stands, and walks right to me. "Thank you." He whispers, then impulsively, his arms are around my neck in a hug.

I hug back, holding tight, but not too tight. One hug does not mean that this wild boy is tame…but if anyone can tame him, it will be my Izzy.

Max brings him the pad, and Michael retreats to his corner again. Unexpected tears fill my eyes. Philip massages my shoulder. "I think my present will have to wait. There's no way it could even compare to that."

I nod. He's right. Michael gave me what he's never given anyone but Izzy and Max. He let me hold him close. In that moment, in my heart, he became mine. I loved him despite, or maybe because of his rough edges. He trusted me. It was a priceless gift, one I would never dream of trading away.

Philip and I start breakfast. We make waffles, and the kids enjoy them. I even see Michael smile. He doesn't do that when Philip and I can see. Another Christmas miracle. After breakfast, Michael sets up in the dining room. He meticulously examines each crayon and the colors it produces. Then, shyly, he starts to draw. I give him the space he needs. He draws, and works patiently.

I think for a moment of what this boy will do when he is grown. Even now I believe he will be, no even now he is an artist. Isabel joins him a little later. She doesn't interrupt, or peer over his shoulder. She sits next to him, with her own paper and crayons. Not long after, Max is there too, reading. Michael is sneaking glances at me and Philip when he thinks we don't notice.

Philip is deeply involved in the new mystery novel I gave him, so he really doesn't notice. I wonder how much Philip has missed in our children's lives already by not noticing.

Eventually, Michael hands the picture to Isabel. She beams at him, proudly. She thanks him, and asks a question. He hunches his shoulders and shrugs. Isabel bestows a 'princess look' and a bright smile on him, before whirling up to me with the paper.

"Mom." She says breathlessly. "Michael drew this for us. I want to frame it."

I take the picture, and know I was right. This child is an artist. With only crayons and paper he has wrought a miracle on paper. It's a portrait of my family. I am there, smiling. Philip is behind me, with his book. 

Max and Isabel are together, her fair hair a perfect counterpoint to his dark one. She looks regal, like the princess Philip claims, only half-joking, that she must be. Michael is there too, off to the side a little. He is with his box of crayons. And there is one other person, far in the background. Her curls are golden, and she looks like she is longing to be part of this cozy scene.

I smile. "Of course baby. Of course we'll frame it. It's beautiful. Thank him. You know how."

Isabel nods. "He'll let you say thank you this time." She informs me.

I place the paper on the counter, carefully. I go over to the table. "Thank you Michael." My voice is only a little choked. "Your picture…you can't imagine how special it is to me, to have a picture like that."

He nods and shrugs, and I know not to push him.

"You know, I took some art classes in college. I think I still have the books. If you would ever like to see them, just tell me." I offer him a present for the present he gave me.

His eyes widen so far I wonder if it is possible for eyes to bug out of their sockets. He stammers. "Y-y-y-yes ma'am."

I turn to go back to the sink and dishes. He stops me. "M-m-mrs. Evans, is it true?"

"Is what true?" I ask.

"Do they really have classes—and books—and all that for art?"

"Yes, of course." I say. "Here, let me show you." I take a piece of Isabel's paper and sketch the Christmas tree.

He watches carefully, memorizing my every movement. I realize with amazement that he has copied every stroke I made. His picture is better than mine.

"That's great Michael." I compliment warmly.

He nods warily, still a bit suspicious.

I leave them, but I don't go back to the dishes. I go upstairs, and start searching for my old art books.

When I come back downstairs, Michael and Max's heads are together. They are avidly discussing a comic book, while Isabel paints her nails. It is hourse before they return to drawing. Michael takes up the crayon again, and this time it seems to be Max directing the drawing. I only catch a few words. "Blond……….Little. Very little………Prettiest in the world, prettier even than Liz Parker. Her eyes are this color." He proffers a blue crayon. "And her face is a heart, like love. She looks like love."

Michael rolls his eyes slightly at the poetic turn Max has taken, but he works with his crayons. "Is that her?"

Max takes it. "Yes, close." He agrees. "This is how she looks now."

Michael shrugs. "How will she look later?"

"One day we'll all be together again." Max promises. "I'll tell you how it will be." His voice is pitched soft, and I have stopped moving, so I can hang on his words. "We will all be older and wiser. Sadder, though we will know more. We will all know more than we want to know." He predicts. "Christmas will be the happiest time. She will be Izzy's best friend, and she'll be able to slow down the Christmas Nazi."

I try not to snort at the name Michael invented for Isabel during the holiday season. I love my daughter to death, but she does get a bit obsessive.

"It'll be Christmas morning. You will be here with Isabel. You will laugh at her as she opens her presents, because she has to shake them all and try to guess what's inside. But it's a nice laugh. It's a happy laugh. She will give you a present, the last of the kind that you would expect."

Michael's crayons move across the paper, obeying his wishes. I long for a second for such control with my hands.

"And She will be here." Special emphasis on she. A mystery woman. The same that they called the fourth?

Michael looks up.

Max continues. "She will wear a red sweater. I will put something special in her stocking, and she will pull it out and she will laugh and she will cry, because things will finally be the way they should be, the way it seemed that they would never be."

Michael draws on. Max sips some hot chocolate and goes on. "I will be there with her. I will sit on the floor with her, though I don't want do. I'll do it because she asks me too, and I would do anything for her."

Michael smirks, and he is concentrating so hard that the tip of his tongue sticks out of his lips.

"Mom and Dad will be on the couch. Izzy will hand them presents from all four of us, because by then the four of us will all be theirs. They will love us all even more than they do right now."

He talks on, describing a tree, and different decorations. I avert my eyes. The scene is too personal and I have been eavesdropping. I feel guilty, for more reasons than one. First, that Michael was so alone and still a part of my babies, and then that there was a part of all my children that was missing, a little girl with hair like the sun and eyes like the sea and a face like love. And that they have not let me in on this, on this missing parts of them…

I look again ten minutes later and the boys are playing Nintendo, intent on jumping, flipping, and climbing. 

I wonder how often they think about this little girl, and I wonder if there will ever be such an idyllic scene as Max described.

I wonder if I will ever meet a little girl with a face like love, and for my sons' sake I pray that I shall.


	3. Chapter 3

Part III

Nancy Parker POV

I'm in the Crashdown, the restaurant my family owns. My husband is in the back office, settling accounts. My daughter Elizabeth is standing on a step stool behind the cash register, smiling sweetly at all the customers as they come to pay for their food.

I know it's horribly mercenary of me to use a ten-year-old to garner extra tips…but I'm doing it. Besides, helping out in the restaurant is still a game to her. Later on, when she is a waitress here it will not be play time. But for now it is.

Two new customers have just walked in. It is a man, and his daughter. She looks to be about my Lizzie's age. But she is smaller, and thinner. Her hair is blond and her eyes are blue. They are huge, dominating her entire face. Her face is dirty, and she looks tired. I wonder if the man is a trucker. He doesn't look like it, but they do have the look of the road, of travelers. And they do not seem like tourists.

They sit at a booth and I wave at Agnes, indicating that I will take this order myself. Agnes is never sorry to get to sit a little longer, so she only nods. I approach the table, and I smile. "Hi, welcome to the Crashdown. I'm Nancy, I'll be your server for today. What can I get for you?"

The little girl looks up at me, shyly. "Where's the bathroom?" She nearly whispers.

I point, and she vacates the booth.

Her father watches her go. He asks for two waters, eggs, an extra bottle of Tabasco sauce. I write it down, but I don't need to. The little girl comes back. Her face is glowing. All the dirt has been washed away from her face, hands, neck, and arms.

Her hair seems brighter somehow. The previously tangled curls are neatly brushed and in two pigtails. I promise to have the food right out, and I walk behind the counter. Liz has gone back to the kitchen. She is sitting on the dishwasher, listening to Jose, our Mexican cook, tell her a colorful story about pirates and aliens. 

I tell Jose the order, asking him to put extra in. I promise to pay for it. I don't know why, but somehow I sense that the little girl sitting out there is starving, not only for food but for a mother. I see the way she looked at me when I kissed Liz's forehead and sent her upstairs to do homework.

I give the man and the little girl the food. She looks at him out of the corner of her eye when I deliver plate after plate, but she cleans every one. From the look of her she shouldn't be able to eat more than a bird… but then birds do eat four times their body weight just to survive. Lizzie told me that. Amazing the things that girl picks up. I love my daughter, I do, but sometimes she can make me feel ignorant, and trapped. I know she's outgrowing me, and the only one who can keep up with her is Claudia. Jeff's mother. My daughter idolizes Claudia, but…

The little girl has asked me a question, the first I've heard her speak since she asked for the rest room. She's either very shy, or no that must be it, she's very shy. I tell her to speak up. She asks if she could have some juice please.

The man glares, like it's an unreasonable request, and I bite back the urge to give him a piece of my mind. I give her the juice, and I watch as she drinks it. The man grabs her arm and tells her it's time to move on. The little thing flinches, and tries to take her arm away from him. I'm about to step in, when Jim Valenti is there. Jim is a good man, a strong man. He asks if there's a problem.

The Crashdown is all but empty now. Just me, Jose, Jim, the man and the little girl. I thank God that I sent Lizzie upstairs. The little girl is trembling. The man's gripping her arm so tightly I wonder why she isn't crying. He let's go and says, "No, no problem. Child, it's time to go."

"Child is not my name." The little girl finally stands up tall.

The man looks furious. "Do you defy me?" He snarls in her face.

The child stands taller, and suddenly I think I see a queen or a princess before me. The tilt of her head is something I have only seen in movies or on TV. "My name is not child, creature, it or you. Call me by my name. I have one."

Jim Jose and I are all frozen, watching the play between the two. What is it that the child has over the man? And he her? I no longer believe he is her father, so why are they together?

"All right, Ava." The man says. "It's time to go, your majesty."

"I am not Ava here. I am Tess." The little girl declares, setting her chin. Her face is the shape of a heart, and if she had any baby fat, it would be an angelic face, especially with that hair, and those eyes. But she is bone thin, and her eyes are haunted. "I don't want to go with you any more. You hurt people for no reason and you make us run and hide. I want to eat hot food and sleep in a real house and take real baths."

Jim breaks the spell. "Acting as Sheriff of Roswell New Mexico I am stepping in and turning this child over to human services on grounds of neglect." He motions to me, and I stumble over. "Nan, would you and Jeff take Tess here over night?"

"Of course." I look at the girl uncertainly, but she seems to sort of collapse. I catch her, and as I turn around Jose is there. He wraps her in a blanket and takes her from my arms, crooning to her in Spanish. She answers in his language, and I am slightly stunned that this child I do not know will be in my home overnight.

Jose carries her upstairs. He sets her down in the bathroom, and I tell her she may take a bath if she wants. She nods, and I retreat to gather some of Liz's old clothes for her to sleep in. Liz is asleep. I set up our couch, and transfer my daughter to it. Liz will not mind, and I think that for tonight the little girl without a home or family deserves a real bed.

I tuck her in, saving my questions about who she is and where on Earth she came from for tomorrow.


	4. Chapter 4

PART IV

I have never before had reason to be ashamed of my daughter.

But now I have reason and I am ashamed. And Angry. I thought I raised her better, thought I taught her to have compassion for those who are in need, to share her blessings.

I woke early this morning, as always. I went downstairs to get things started in the restaurant, then went back upstairs. I contacted human services. Jim had already filed a report with them. They said they would come get her today, but I asked for paperwork. I wanted to offer her a home. The agent said she did not think that would be 'prudent.' She warned me that it would be all too easy to get attached, and that the wrench would be that much worse when she was taken to a state home.

I protested that I wanted to take care of her, that I was already attached, that this child needed me. I even said I wanted to adopt her. They agreed to send someone over to talk to my family, and me but then a crash rang through the whole house. I hung up the phone and ran into Liz's room.

Liz was screaming, and the little girl, Tess was standing over her. The blankets were on the floor—and in Liz's hand I saw strands of blond hair. "Girls!" I shouted.

"Mommy this strange girl was in my bed and my clothes! Make her leave! Now!" Liz fretted.

The little blond backs away nervously. She licks her lips. "I was just sleeping and she came in and tore off all the blankets and grabbed me by my hair and outta the bed."

"Elizabeth!" I say, shocked. "Is that true?"

"It's mine!" My daughter whines, sounding all of two rather than ten.

"I'm leaving anyway. Ed will come back for me and we'll go." The girl, Tess says. "And even if he doesn't, I know how to take care of myself!"

My heart breaks a little for this girl. "Elizabeth, apologize and welcome Tess into our home."

Elizabeth wails and runs out past me.

Tess looks down. I can tell she is ashamed. I am also. "Please, Tess, believe me, you are welcome in this house. Elizabeth will come around."

"Sure." She says. 

"There's some clean clothes for you on the desk." I offer.

She nods, uncomfortable.

"I'll get out so you can change." I leave, and find Elizabeth. She is cuddled in Jeff's lap, pouring out her version of the story. I know it is no use to tell my husband that Elizabeth behaved abominably to this other girl. Elizabeth is his child. She is mine too, but I am conscious (maybe too conscious) of her faults.

I fix breakfast, blessing whoever invented cold cereal. I pour and extra glass of juice, remembering that Tess liked it. Elizabeth eats sullenly, and Jeff looks at me reproachfully. How dare I side with a stranger above my own child?

The question troubles me so that I barely realize it has been a half-hour and Tess has not yet joined us. It can not take that long for her to change. I knock on the door, with an uneasy feeling as I do so. Eventually, I just go in. The window is open, the curtains billowing in the breeze.

The little blond is gone. Did she always plan to go or did Elizabeth chase her away? I will never know if I could've chased away the haunted look in her eyes.

I call Jim, fumbling slightly with the phone. I pour out the story—Tess is gone, and I don't know where.

He tells me to calm down, and put Jeff on. I tell him I can't, Jeff is furious with me for yelling at Elizabeth when she ripped the other girl's hair out of her head.

Jim sighs, and I remember the days when we used to date, way back when, long before I ever thought I would love Jeff, long before his selfish Michelle broke his heart…

"Nan, don't worry, I'll find our girl." He says, and my insides feel warm. 

'our girl' I think. "Our girl?" I repeat.

"Yes, well…" I hear him stumble for words. "I mean, since we're going to be a part of her life now."

"I hope you find her." I say.

"Just let me drop Kyle off with Amy DeLuca and I'll get started." He promises. "I'll be by some time today with updates."

"Thank you." I tell him. "I'll have coffee and some dessert waiting for you, on the house."

"Then I'll definitely be by." He teases.

And we hang up, and I feel shame wash over me. She for my daughter's behavior, for flirting with an old boyfriend, shame for the anger I feel at my family, and most of all I am ashamed that I failed the little girl named Tess with hair like the sun and a face like a heart. I never even learned her last name.


	5. Chapter 5

Part V  
Jim's POV

I hang up the phone with Nancy and rustle Kyle out of bed. He is obedient, with only the mildest of protests. He hates it when I am called away from him to perform my duties as Sheriff, but sometimes he understands the urgency and does not put up a fuss.

I rarely tell him more than he needs to know. Worry over me and what the future was for a lawman's wife drove Michelle away. She hated me for being unable to give up this job. I would get furious with her for not understanding that I needed to help people, needed to protect this town.

She would throw my father in my face, taunting. She told me I was doomed to his fate unless I left town, left with her and Kyle and built a new life far away from here. She wanted to live near the ocean. 

She wanted a cottage by the sea with a little garden and white picket fence. The desert and our trailer were a far cry from Michelle's little girl dreams. SO one day, when Kyle was six she walked away from him and me. She hasn't come back yet, and it's been four years.

I carry my son out to our truck, and check that his seat belt is fastened. He fiddles with the restraint minutely and asks why I have to go.

I sigh. "There's a little girl out there, and she's only your age. She's lost and probably hungry and she needs a family."

"Doesn't she have one?"

"No." I tell him.

He settles moodily into staring out the window. "I still don't see why I have to go to Depuca's." He grumbles.

I frown at his molestation of Amy and Maria's name. "Amy's a nice lady." I say.

"Yeah, Mrs. Deluca's nice." He agrees. "But that stupid dorkbrain girl…"

I try not to laugh. Dorkbrain? That's original. "What's wrong with Maria?" I ask.

"Do you remember kindergarten?" He asks mournfully.

It's another battle not to laugh. On the first day of kindergarten Maria Deluca, who is as much of a spitfire as her mother, painted my son Kyle purple. He retaliated by drowning her Carebear in the sink. I remember the parent teacher conference vividly. Amy was furious—how could I allow such a ruffian to pick on her sweet, totally innocent and angelic Maria?

All I had to say in Kyle's defense was that he hadn't tried to drown Maria, and at least he'd put the poor toy in the sink—he could've used the toilet.

The teacher, poor woman, was in her first year. She was fresh out of college and full of idealistic and naïve illusions. Illusions my son and Amy's daughter cured her of as rapidly as possible. By Christmas in that first year, the teachers had started a betting pool—which one of them would set the school on fire before graduating it in fifth grade?

But four years later Michael Guerin entered the school and he pulled my son straight out of the running for troublemaker. He and Maria began competing, until the Evans girl stepped in. I remember that just about everyone had thrown up their hands and was ready to send him to a school for problem children. We were in that final conference, with me there as Sheriff to give a professional opinion on juvenile delinquents.

Maria was sitting like a little lady, and Amy looked like she just wanted to die. I could tell she was questioning her skills as a single parent—she was still, IS still so young. Michael had to be called out of class, and when he came, the Evans girl, Isabel, was holding his hand. She dropped it when he came in, but somehow or another she weaseled her way in to staying.

Michael apologized for any trouble he had caused in a charming little speech. I could see one of the teachers(The one who had him that first year) trembling. Rumor had it that the Guerin boy had pushed him to the edge of a nervous breakdown, but I never believed that. Well, that Michael caused it at least.

Michael seemed so genuine, so in need. I couldn't see him sent to one of those 'special' schools. Necessary as they are, I knew what would become of him there. And I couldn't see it happen to that special little boy. Evidently the principal had come to the same decision. Michael stayed at Roswell Elementary to pull Maria's curls another day. But I've never forgotten the way that little Evans girl held his hand with such complete trust, such faith. They fit together, and I couldn't understand how. The rebel, the trouble maker, the foster kid and the princess, the well-behaved, the lawyer's daughter…

By the time I had mused all of this I had left Kyle in Amy's capable hands, praying that Roswell survived an entire day of Kyle and Maria together. Though neither will admit it, they love being around each other, making messes and laughing at the results.

I got to the station to get a full report on the man who'd been traveling with the girl, Tess, who had run away. The man had refused to answer any questions, and somehow during the night he'd gotten out of his cell. I was furious, and needless to say worried. How did he get out? Could anyone else do the same? What steps were being taken to prevent it from happening again? Had anyone else gotten out?

The deputies were pretty stunned about the whole thing, so after berating the lot of them I got a search for the little girl organized. We were all ready to hit the major spots a scared runaway ten-year-old kid would head for. I set one up with a phone and the number for Human Services foster care division. I figure it was punishment enough to sit behind a desk trading 'pleasantries' with a pencil pushing bureaucrat while everyone else on the force is out there doing something, well, useful.

I drove by the Crashdown to let Nancy know. She hadn't come down yet, but Jeff gave me a cup of coffee on the house. He was somewhat gruffer than usual, but then from what Nan said earlier they'd had a little squabble. I hoped it wasn't anything serious, after all though I dated Nan and loved her dearly that was way back when. I only want the best for her and Jeff and their precocious little Liz. Liz is the same age as Kyle, Maria, Michael, Isabel, and even the little one we're searching for now, Tess.

The manhunt was going about the way I'd expected—there's a lot of places for a kid that small to hide, particularly one that doesn't trust adults, men particularly, and one who doesn't want to be found.

We checked the school thoroughly, we went over the playground with a fine tooth comb. McDonalds was searched, as was Burger King. We gave the Crashdown a cursory examination, and the UFO museum. We glanced in shops. We examined the parks, and we searched the restaurants. I just had a hunch that the girl would be hungry, and what child can resist the siren song of food?

We worked all through the day and half the night before the child let us find her. I'll never know exactly why she let us find her. Her hiding place was secure and she'd probably never seen or felt an ounce of human kindness or love. I know she couldn't have trusted us, but when we got to the library and started searching through the stacks of books she nearly threw herself at us.

We brought her back to the station. It was late at night, and she was only wearing jeans and a T-shirt. I imagine she was freezing, but she didn't show it at all. When I asked her if she wanted to wear my jacket she said she'd been colder and she wasn't some weak little girl. She undermined her own argument by shivering almost uncontrollably, but I let her have her pride. The only thing I did was turn up the heat another couple notches until I was broiling and she looked comfortable.

At the station, some kind citizen had heard about the search for the missing girl and set us up with hot chocolate and coffee. I snagged two donuts, one for me, one for her and brought back two hot chocolates. I sat down, and started, very informally, asking her a few questions.

She didn't have parents that she remembered. She said, "There was a crash. I fell asleep, and when I woke up everyone was gone. It was just me. So I went to sleep again. And later I woke up and he was waiting for me. He said, "Child, get up. It's late already and it is time to go."

I ask her, "What did you do?"

"I got up and I followed him." She says, as if I am a dullard. "What else could I do? I was all alone—they left me all alone."

I ache for this child, who has lost. "How long were you with him?"

"I don't know." She says dully. "A long time. He taught me how to hide. We are always running and hiding. He calls it 'escape and evade' and we will do it until we find the others who survived the crash." She says it indifferently, sipping her chocolate. "He said that when we find the others we'll be able to go to his home planet. He said that there I am a queen."

I feel a throb of hot anger. This psycho could've done God knew what to this child and no one would know. I ask if she is all right.

She nods gravely. "Yes thank you."

I feel ridiculous. How can this child be okay? At the very least she's suffered a lot of damage. I wonder what the Human Services people will say when they start to talk to her. I ask, gently, why she ran away from the Crashdown.

She blinks large eyes at me. "They didn't want me for real. Not for long, not as a family. I don't have a family, and the girl said I couldn't have hers." She explains slowly, as if I am a slightly backward child.

I call out for Hansen. He comes right over. Powdered sugar is all over his shirt front, and he clowns around some, trying to win a smile from the child. She watches the spectacle the way Michelle watched the rodeo—with grim fascination and some level of horror tempered by slight amusement and tainted by consternation. 

I order him to call Human Services in the morning and tell them we found Tess, and that I'm bringing her home with me for tonight. She's had enough to upset her. I also tell him to tell them to contact me about adoption—I want this girl to be a part of my family.

Hansen shrugs, but the little girl flushes.

"I have a family somewhere. And someday they'll find me, ore I'll find them." She protests. "I don't need you to feel sorry for me."

"All right." I soothe. "Just stay with me for a little while. Till they come."

She is unconvinced.

"It'll be better than an orphanage or foster care." I tell her. 'I promise three meals a day and a bed to sleep in at night."

"As long as when my family finds me you'll let me go."

"If I'm sure they're really your family." I bargain. I know that I am walking a dangerous wire. The psycho who she got away from last night was probably a member of some fanatic religious cult. I can only hope that a member of the cult doesn't come to lure her away. I'm already thinking of her as part of the family that I've tried to build with Kyle in the years since Michelle left.

She holds out her hand. "Deal."

We shake on it, and she turns to Hansen. "You saw. We made a deal. If he tries to break it, you remind him that we made a deal."

Hansen nods. "Surely little lady." He winks at me, and I can see that she is getting angry. "Oh, so I have it for the forms, what's your full name?" He turns to her.

She looks at him in surprise. "Full name? I'm just Tess."

Hansen sighs. "All right, Just Tess, we'll find a last name for you in the morning. I think it's time that you were in bed."

I scoop her up, amazed at how light she is. She doesn't look like she could weigh much, but holding her is the same weight as holding a kitten or a puppy. I carry her to my truck and strap her in. I pick up Kyle on the way and drive home with two sleeping ten-year-olds. Are they in for a surprise tomorrow morning.


	6. Chapter 6

PART VI

I woke earlier than normal this morning. I think I was more anxious than Tess was about her first day at Roswell Elementary. I got the kids out of bed a half hour earlier than normal. Kyle complained about leaving his bed but I think he was pleasantly surprised that I wasn't an absolute bear the way I am when we run late. Which is most of the time. I have to work on that.

Tess dressed in a blue dress Amy sent. I don't think she was particularly happy about wearing a dress, but all her jeans are dirty. I'm amazed at how much dirt that child managed to find, with my son's help. I thought girls were supposed to be 'dainty' or something like that. When I mentioned that preconception to Amy Deluca I thought I might need to take her to the emergency room. She was laughing so hard I doubt she was breathing. Kyle was allowed to wear his normal jeans and t-shirt. 

I think I would've had a riot on my hands otherwise. Tess is relentlessly polite. 'Please' 'thank you' 'may I…' 'can I help you' and other niceties ring through the house. Where Kyle would reach across the table to grab the ketchup, she would ask softly and wait for it to be passed. I've gotten excellent at hearing sounds below the normal range of hearing for a human being.

Tess and Kyle have adapted to each others presence reasonably well. She asserts herself with him—she will not watch some of the TV shows he wants to, and God help us all if she doesn't get to use proper nouns and abbreviations in Scrabble. She harasses him about the baby toys and blanket that are still in his room. Poor kid, she shows no mercy. Even his crush on an as yet unrevealed little girl is not sacred.

He makes his feelings known about her eating habits and clothes. She dumps sugar in just about everything. Once I caught her stirring sugar in a soda. She lays her clothes for the entire week out ahead of time. On Sunday night, when I deliver her clean laundry, she separates her small collection of shirts, pants and dresses into seven different days. She even puts hair bands that match the outfits.

Of course, she's only been with us two weeks. That might wear off before too long. She is so organized for someone that age. Hell, she'd be organized for someone my age.

So, anyway, I drove them to the school this morning. The three of us rode in the cab of the truck. I had registered her already, so all that was left was to go the right classroom. Kyle decided that having me walk inside his school would be a humiliation not to be borne, so he offered to take Tess to her classroom. I would've insisted, but Tess agreed.

She can be a prickly child. For all that she is so polite, I sense that it's a wall she uses to block us out. Sometimes I see unguarded moments. When she held the kitten from the cat next door and it started to purr in her lap, I saw real joy. When she sees a box of crayons, she gets a wistful look. We passed Barbie dolls in the store once and she simply stopped to stare. And if you try to drag her away from her star gazing one second before she's ready be warned, the consequences are ugly…

But for all of that, I'm proud of my girl. I've started on the paperwork for her adoption and we're examining the causes for the psycho's, whom she was traveling with, escape. Actually, when we examined the video tape, we saw one of the deputies let him out of the cell. That deputy swears it didn't happen, but he couldn't explain the tape. He's suspended, pending investigation.

I'm proud of my son too. He usually reacts, well, to put it politely, negatively to change. He's adopted Tess as not just a guest but as a sister. If that means he gets to make fun of her, well, so be it.

It's ten o'clock now, and school has been in session for two hours. They are letting the kids out for morning recess any minute now. Amy Deluca is one of the classroom moms and an active PTA member. To atone for Maria's many sins, Amy volunteers at the school a lot. She's the recess monitor today. Maybe I'll call her later, to ask her how the first day went. If we happen to talk about going out to dinner some time so be it.


	7. Chapter 7

Part VII

Jim called me several times last night. Apparently, being the father for a little girl is beyond his experience. He's a wise enough man to call in backup. Of the feminine persuasion. There are some things about little girls that men, even the most devoted fathers, can't understand.

So he's called for advice, and lately it seems just to talk. I'm glad. Jim's a good, decent man. Maria needs some kind of role model like that in her life. Jeff Parker, Liz's father, is a good man who does his best, but… Well, don't tell anyone that I said this, but Nancy Parker is a jealous woman. For all her high and mighty talk about helping the less fortunate and volunteering here or there, when push comes to shove she hates to see her husband spending time with a young single woman and her daughter. Nancy's a good enough person in her way, but our styles clash. If not for our daughters' friendship we would not speak to each other, let alone be something approaching friends.

But any way, Jim's been calling lately. He told me that Tess' first day was going to be today. He beat around the bush, but he sort of asked me to keep an eye on her and report on how it went. He said that she's a private child who doesn't really understand the purpose of just talking about how one's day went. I promised to keep an eye on her for him.

So Maria and I got to school early. Maria protested, but I made her wear a pink dress my mother sent her. Maria hates dresses, but she looks adorable in them… Off the point again. I was hoping to see Jim, since I was helping out as the classroom aid or monitor or some such.

Imagine my surprise when Kyle showed up with Tess. Just the two of them. They weren't holding hands the way the Evans girl, Isabel, holds onto her brother Max or her friend Michael. I heard tell that they're adopted—the Evanses that is. Anyway, apparently they were just found out in the desert somewhere, just the two of them. She's uncomfortable without him around, and honestly I can't remember a time when I saw him by himself and remembered it. I know I must have, but he's such an odd, quiet child that you don't notice him except as his sister's shadow.

That Guerin boy is a different story, believe me. He torments my daughter Maria. And she enjoys getting her revenge entirely too much for it to be entirely one sided. The only time he's different is when the girl Isabel is around. She's tall, stately, graceful and beautiful. In fifth grade. It's really unbelievable. She has as much poise as Princess Grace of Monaco did. No wonder Maria hates her. It's a childish, passionate hate born of jealousy that I know she will out grow.

Any way, Tess and Kyle came in together, and there was something about them that reminded me of Isabel and Max. He was there to protect her, but she didn't fully realize it. She had herself convinced that she could handle it alone. He let her keep her delusion, but kept the worst of new kid hazing at bay.

The teacher introduced Tess to the class, and made her stand up from her seat and introduce herself. I could see Kyle simmering—he didn't want her to have to do it. She stood, and her firm little chin went up and her posture shifted. I was again reminded of royalty. "I am Tess Valenti." She said the last name as a challenge to anyone who would take it.

None of them did take it. They were all awed by a little girl who could call to mind a queen just by standing up straight.

The teacher asked her to say where she'd lived before. Tess looked a little surprised and said, "I've never really _lived_ anywhere. We traveled all the time. But I've been everywhere."

The teacher snorted, and I suddenly understood fully my daughter's constant antagonism towards this woman. "No one can go everywhere, Tess." She said, almost kindly. "You don't want to start off at a new school by telling lies, do you?"

"I'm not lying." Tess said proudly. "I bet you've never been to Japan or Russia or Luxembourg or Prague." She mumbled. "I bet you don't know half of the languages I know."

The teacher sneered. "Class, let's open your books. Tess, as punishment for telling falsehoods, you will not go out to recess today."

Falsehoods? I ask you, what respectable teacher accuses a ten-year-old Sheriff's daughter of lying on her first day?

Tess sat in her desk and muttered something I didn't hear in a language other than English. The teacher evidently did hear. She turned slightly purple.

The other kids giggled, not because they understood Tess, but because she made the teacher they all despised (Except for Lizzie Parker of course. Liz Parker is every teacher's pet) angry. No matter what damage she was doing to her reputation among the faculty, she was endearing herself to the kids.

The teacher asked Tess what she said. Tess said that she had only repeated an old Chinese proverb. She translated it to "A child's life is like a piece of paper on which every person leaves a mark." 

Now the teacher was beyond a little angry. She was trembling with fury, but resolved not to send the new girl to the principal ten minutes into her first day. She switched Tess' seat and started the class on spelling.

Things went smoothly (thank the lord) until morning Recess. When the rest of the kids were released, Tess was required to stay in class to talk with the teacher. I gave her an encouraging look on the way out, and Maria and Kyle insisted on waiting for her. Alex and Liz went ahead to play, well, stand around on the playground.

Maria and Kyle were shooed away, so I don't know exactly what happened, but when the girl appeared on the playground she was flushed with triumph. Later I would hear the teacher repeating time and again "A closed mind is like a closed book; just a block of wood."

But when Tess got to the playground, in that blue dress Maria never wore, she looked positively angelic. There were moments of vulnerability and prettiness, but she kept a tough shield up as much as possible, so I found my self thinking of her more as Jim's little tomboy or tough girl or a poor child, but right then I thought of her a little beauty. A smart, tough little beauty.

She descended the steps, and then I saw the fifth grade's acknowledged beauty, Isabel Evans, step away from the fashion twins (Maria's term, of course) Max and Michael were avidly discussing a comic book that was dropped in the dust the instant they saw her. I don't think anyone else noticed, but of course I did because I was watching them. The Evans children fascinate me. They seem to have everything but they can't seem to bear to be separated. And the way they hold on to that Guerin boy makes me wonder sometimes.

They approached Tess slowly, and she was staring at them, as if this were every dream she'd ever had come true. She looked like Christmas morning. They all looked hopeful but doubtful.

"Are you…" Isabel broke the silence.

Tess looked at her. "Are you?"

The boy, Max, said, "I've waited for you for so long. We missed you."

Michael said, "How did you find us? Did you dream it?"

"No." Tess said. "I tried, but every time you almost said where you were…"

"You went away." Isabel said.

Max reached out and took Tess' hand and I'll be damned if I didn't see a little glow where their hands touched. "You're here now. And you won't leave us again, will you?"

"Never." The conviction in her voice is so strong. I've heard conviction that strong in wedding vows and promises to newborn babies, but no where else. "We're together now, and we will be forever."

Michael took her other hand, and Isabel took one of his and one of Max's. They didn't seem to care where they were. They were standing in a circle, clenching each others hands and beaming at each other when the bell rang. I turned away from that little group and lined up the kids to go back inside.

When I turned around the four of them were no where in sight. I ushered the others in, and looked around the playground for them. I saw them under a, well Roswell doesn't have any trees per say, but the closest thing we have. The four of them were still holding on, and they had started to whisper. It was an unbearably private moment to intrude on—but I knew I had to. I went towards them and said gently, "Kids, the bell rang. You can see each other at lunch."

All four gave me the most injured looks I have ever seen in my life. I thought they would protest, but all Max said was, "We'll go in."

He didn't let go of Tess' hand. Michael didn't let go either, so they walked, four across into the building. There are two fifth grade classes. Tess was in Kyle and Maria's class. The, well, remedial class. Personally I don't believe my daughter belongs in the remedial class. If anybody does, it's the Guerin boy.

Isabel, Michael, and Max are in the other. They informed me that since the other teacher didn't like Tess that much she had switched to their class. Plus, she already knew what her class had done that morning. I would've protested, but their teacher, a man, came out and ushered them in, assuring me he had a note from the principal.

I don't know what I plan to tell Jim. I will say that she's beautiful, bright as a button, a little princess who knows how to stand up for herself…but I don't know what I'll say about the Evanses or the Guerin boy and the way they connected. Maybe I won't say anything. Maybe I imagined it. One thing I can say, I will keep an eye on those four.


	8. Chapter 8

Part VIII  
Diane's POV

Today is Monday.

I work on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. A sitter comes to pick the kids up at the bus and watches them for the hour until I get home. I did not go to work today. Everything inside me rebelled. I wanted to work—there was important stuff for me to do. But I could not force myself to leave the house. Something screamed to me that Max and Isabel would need me. A mother's instinct I said to Philip. He snorted—Philip does not believe in a sixth sense that all mothers possess. But he only laughed lightly at my whim—he generally humors me. Ordinarily it annoys me. Today it didn't—I was more annoyed with myself. Foolishness, really.

But I stayed home.

My children brought home friends today.

So, you might say. What is so unusual about that? All I can say is that you don't know Max and Isabel. Isabel is wildly popular and has tons of friends—but they don't come to our house unless it's for a party or there's more than one. She's never brought over just one little girl. Max brings Michael. No one else—I worry sometimes that Max doesn't socialize enough. But today, they brought Michael Guerin (He's over all the time, practically a third child), Kyle Valenti and the little girl from the picture Michael drew at Christmas.

Yes. The girl. The one they called the fourth. The one with sunshine hair and ocean eyes. The one who's face is a heart, whose face is love. She was holding Max's hand as they practically danced up the driveway. Michael and Isabel were right behind them. Isabel was skipping, and giggling.

SO, you might say again. Ten-year-old girls giggle. All I can say is that Isabel does not. She sneers, she laughs politely, but she never, ever giggles. Somehow she is too old for that.

Behind the two sets of two Kyle Valenti was dragging his feet, kicking at a rock and scowling.

I took it all in, in an instant. I hurried away from the door to the den, where I sank onto the couch, trying to get a hold of myself. I managed well enough, and when the door opened I called a cheerful hello.

The kids were surprised to see me. It is Monday. But surprised didn't mean unhappy. Isabel gave me the sunniest smile I've ever seen on her face. And I mean that. Isabel's smiles (real smiles, not model smile for the camera smiles) are far between. And even when she does smile, there's always this trace of guilt.

It's the same way with Max, but deeper. Sometimes I've wondered if I ever saw a real smile from him. After today, I know. I have seen his real smile, and it was all for a sprightly little girl with golden curls.

It hurts a little, that he never really smiled at me. But now there is time, because both of—no, all of my children are filled with joy. Michael was suspicious as ever, but there was a pleased air to his smirk. And the carefree way he clasped Izzy's hand was revealing.

The only 'downer' was Kyle. The child was positively miserable! He resented Max's hand in the girl's. He resented being the outsider, the follower. I think he resented being at our house—I mean, good heavens, he's been here once, maybe twice when Jim had to report something urgent to Philip about one of our clients. The last time Jim was here—Lord, I don't even remember when.

Max brought the girl forward, holding her tightly. She looked frightened, as if she would bolt. Isabel stepped forward and said, "Mom, this is Tess."

Max was talking to her in the voice he's cultivated for Michael—pitched low, reassuring. Even a little pleading. Michael came forward to take her hand, and whispered in her other ear. She eventually broke into a pale imitation of the smile that had wreathed her face before I scared her. "The Valenti's are adopting me like you adopted Max and Izzy." Her voice was shy, childish, yet in it I recognized some of the lilting inflection Isabel used. "That's Kyle." She pointed to the miserable boy, who was doing his best to hide. "He's going to be my brother." She said proudly, and under it I heard a little bit of challenge.

Max has not always gotten along with Kyle. Neither has Michael Guerin. Isabel bases her opinions on the world and the male species in particular on their judgment. She has always treated Kyle with something between mild disdain and contempt.

Michael took up the challenge. "Are you going to protect her every second we can't?" He demanded. He dropped Tess' hand and backed Kyle against the wall.

"Of course." Kyle gave a little shove. "I'll take care of her better than you. You aren't family."

Tess dropped Max's hand and jumped between Michael and Kyle. "Don't fight!" She said with every ounce of command that I've heard Isabel put into her voice on occasion.

The boys stepped apart. Isabel grabbed Tess' hand. "Let's go upstairs. I'll show you some stuff you can do with your hair that would be really pretty."

Tess looked loathe to leave Max. He touched her hand, and seemed to reassure her. The girls whirled upstairs, without a word from me. As soon as they were gone, Kyle and Michael began to wrestle. Max looked annoyed. He sent me back to my legal work. Amazing, isn't it? Only ten-years-old, and as commanding as Philip. I laughed a little, and told him just to ask if he needed something. I went back, and took Michael's picture off the wall to puzzle over it now that I had seen the girl.

I put it down, and saw that Max was pouring sodas. He had a bottle of tabasco sauce out, and was pouring it into one of the sodas. I jumped up to stop him from giving it to Kyle, but he drank it himself. I made a face. How could he do that? It was really disgusting. But Isabel stopped my musings. She called me upstairs to help her with Tess' hair.

When I walked into Isabel's painfully clean bedroom, the first thing I saw was Tess. She looked like she'd been severely punished. Isabel had her hair pulled back so tightly her skin was stretched taught. Isabel was chattering a mile a minute and applying every cosmetic I knew she owned—and a few I did not know about.

Poor little Tess looked downright pitiable as Isabel fussed over her curls. Her hair was thick, fair, and had a lovely wavy curl through it. But hair is not meant to stay on top of a little girl's head, and it fell around her face in straggly locks that Isabel worked to fix. She took the hair falling out of pins as a personal affront. I stopped the process when I realized poor Tess had had all she could take.

Mascara coated her lashes, and shadow was brushed across the lids. Lipstick was on her top lip, but not her bottom. Blush was dark on one cheek, and not so dark on the other. "Isabel, honey, maybe Tess doesn't want to play Barbie doll any more." I suggested, thinking that Isabel really was treating Tess like a really large doll.

Tess looked startled. "Oh, I'm not a Barbie, Mrs. Evans. I'm not tall enough."

Her logic was impeccable. I told the girls that the boys were having soda and popcorn, would they like some?

Isabel told me to sit down. She said they needed my help to plan some things. Tess wiped off the makeup, returning to her dewy complexion. Isabel prompted Tess. Tess informed me, with all the seriousness that Max so often has, that she was going to marry Max. They wanted me to help plan the wedding.

It was all I could do not to laugh heartily at them. Sweet children, only children, who couldn't understand what marriage is about. I was so busy reigning in my amusement that I did not hear all of what Isabel said. I only heard, "It's destiny. And of course it can't happen until we're grown up."

I nodded. "Of course."

Tess looked at me appraisingly, taking in the amusement and doubt I wanted to conceal. "I am going to marry Max some day, Mrs. Evans." She said softly. There was repressed longing in her tone. "When that happens Isabel will be my sister. Will you be my mother the way you are Michael's?"

"What?" I said, unnerved.

"You are all Michael has. You're the only adult he knows that is good."

I was touched, and I felt like I was strangling. But I said only, "And you Tess? DO you know good adults?"

"The Sheriff is good. The kind of good that comes from stories."

"Is that it?" I wonder, thinking that Jim might be the only man who has ever shown her kindness.

"Mrs. Deluca is good in her way. A little crazy and a lot stressed, but really good under it. The lady at The Crashdown had good intentions, but she was too weak to act on them all the time. Michael trusts you. You must be super good. He doesn't trust a lot."

I accept the compliment with a smile, but inwardly I frown. Philosophy from a ten-year-old? I'm not even going to try to tell Philip about this. When he asks how my day was I'll tell him I got paper work done, watched Days of Our Lives, listened to music, and met the kid's new friend.

I help her with the pins. Her scalp is tender and I know I must be hurting her by taking out the pins Isabel has wedged into her hair, but she voices no complaints. She sits, with a little half smile on her face. When Isabel runs to get another brush, she says, "I'm going to go away soon."

"What?" I say. "The Valentis are adopting you, I'm sure you'll be here in Roswell for a long time."

"They want to adopt me." She says, and a touch of sadness has slipped into her eyes. "I love Max. I know you won't understand. But They're coming for me, and They can not, They must not find Max, or Michael, or Isabel."

I am bewildered.

Her eyes meet mine in the mirror, and I know I am not speaking to a little girl. "You must keep strangers away. They could be anywhere."

I stare.

She frowns fiercely. "Promise me! Promise you'll take care of Max for me. Isabel and Michael have each other, and you don't need to be told to look at them. You will anyway, but my Max is so quiet, I worry that he'll fall into the background. Don't let quietness distract you too much." She warns, with eyes that are older than this girl.

"I promise." I say to her, and the words are drawn from my soul. They are my truth now. "I will protect them."

"The Sheriff and Kyle have Amy and Maria—Kyle's probably going to be stupid and ga-ga over Elizabeth Parker. That's okay, as long as it's just a phase. If you think he's getting too serious, would you remind him whose care bear he drowned in kindergarten?"

I frown. This child talks as if she's going far and long. "What about Max? He'll wonder where you've gone."

"Tell him I have to make sure it's safe before forever starts." She blinks hard. "I'll come back, when it's all over. When the dark mirror is true again."

Dark mirror? What on earth does that mean. I ask.

She can not tell me. She says only, "Tell the Sheriff I'm not going because I want to, I'm going to protect everyone."

She's ten. This has to be a hoax. "Where are you going Tess?" I ask.

"I don't know yet." She says. "But when I get there I will have Max's face in my heart. And I will bring Isabel and Michael with me, because they are part of me too."

I shiver. "You're frightening me."

"Don't worry." She says sadly. "You won't remember this. Not until you need to, maybe not ever."

She closes her eyes, and then Isabel is in the room again and I am teasing her about not being able to find the "No More Tangles, No More Tears" solution. I have the oddest feeling that I am missing something, something vital. The girl Tess has not said anything since she told me she would marry Max someday.

PS: Questions? Comments? Suggestions for making it better? Complaints about where the story is heading? Leave it all here.

Yes, Tess mindwarped Diane. I'm using it like hypnosis. Diane won't consciously remember, but Tess placed triggers there so that Diane can give the information.


	9. Chapter 9

Part IX Nasedo's POV

That girl is more trouble than she is worth. It's not like she had any real power at home. It's not like she mattered there—I don't know why They even decided to send her.

I was an elder at home. I was a well-respected councilor. They sought my advice and my wisdom on many important issues. Now I'm a glorified nanny. None of the political wheeling and dealing that was my lifeblood for thirty years or more. None of the high stakes games that people with too much money and time and not enough responsibility play.

I was against their marriage you know. She wasn't even really a lady of the court—It was my firm belief that King Zan should've wed a princess to ensure the stability the people and the economy needed so desperately.

He refused. All the elders, and the counsel were in agreement: he must wed a foreign dignatary, preferably a princess whose world had a military we could enter into an alliance with. The minister of propaganda wanted her to be young and beautiful. 

To be brief, he wanted a moral Princess Vilandra. Vilandra was undeniably the most beautiful woman in the court. The commoners had a short love affair with her. I emphasize short. They loved her beauty, her grace, her style. But they grew sick of her shortly. She was profligate. She spent and spent and spent. She had so many lovers no one, probably not even herself could keep track of them all. The people began to hate their wasteful, foolish princess. 

Their young king warned her, and the dowager queen rebuked her harshly—but Vilandra was spoiled and too used to her own way to change. Perhaps if he had been given time, the king's second, Rath, could have changed her. They were moving well in the right direction—the people had begun to love her again. They saw in these two a fairy tale—a princess and a warrior. And though war tore at us all, the brave valiant hero would return to his faithful beloved. And the minister of propaganda outdid himself selling this story. He did such a good story, members of the counsel believed it. Vilandra herself believed it for a time.

King Zan refused. He refused his elders, disregarded his counsel, and even disobeyed his mother, the Dowager Queen. He would not marry a princess he did not know for the sake of an alliance that might not be necessary. He had fallen helplessly in love with Avadalia fa Torendior. Even at the time, I disapproved. 

She was too little, too much of a fading flower or a shrinking violet. She was like a slender thread, pulled taut by thousands of pounds of media pressure. The Minister of Propaganda worked his magic, turning their story into a Cinderella story. The money was not there for a fairy tale wedding, but it happened anyway. They said that morale raised planet wide. The people trusted their leader, young as he was, and they toasted his delicate bride for making him happy.

The trouble as I saw it, was that she wasn't good for anything. She had the manners of a court lady. Her family was old and respectable. She had the breeding that she could've been a courtier, but for the stubbornness of her family to avoid the court. She was a quiet girl, fond of her books and music and painting. When she became queen she was in an alien world, where everyone wanted something from her. She was naïve, but Zan nursed her through the beginning.

She sat in on war counsels and was soundless, except for questions to her husband in a voice never as loud as a whisper. She always seemed to be underfoot, just a pesky little fly. At least when Vilandra was there, things picked up. The room crackled with Vilandra's presence. 

Avadalia was quiet and completely unobtrusive. Then why did she irritate me? At the time, after I got used to having been slighted and not being consulted over the marriage, I thought her a cute little thing. I regarded her the way I would regard a puppy. I patronized her, explaining the details of a political deal to her the way I would explain it to a precocious child. When the war started to go badly and the scientists prepared the royal four, I assumed that it would be Zan, Rath, Vilandra, and the head of intelligence. The head of intelligence was kept an absolute secret, even from the counsel, but ideas were always plentiful and varied as to who it was. Those in the know assumed it was one of the servants—after all, they were overlooked like furniture. Some said the royal tutor, others the head of the palace guard.

It was none of them.

Perhaps you have guessed by now. For those who have not guessed, I will tell you. It was Avadalia, the Queen.

We all felt like we'd been snubbed when it was revealed—after all, with the act she put on she seemed to have about the intelligence level of a child's plaything. Indeed, she didn't seem to have any functional purpose—most of us just assumed she was the king's plaything. She turned out to be positively brilliant. She rooted out the spies among us with deadly accuracy and efficiency—for them of course. One plant, she did not find. It was their downfall.

I never liked her. She was a woman's in a man's world. She played the games of a courtier far too well, with far too much skill. She was entirely devoted to Zan. She would've risked anything, actually did risk (and lose) everything for him. She played the game, and she won. For that I resented her.

When I got to the pod chamber, and she was the only one waiting there, I resented her more. I'd waited forty years for them to come out of the pods so I could educate them and get home. I mis-timed it by a day and a half. She was the only one waiting there, and she couldn't even speak. She didn't know where the others were. So I took her with me, determined to find the others. It was supposed to take days, not years.

But it has been years, and she has thrown one of those fits of tantrum I dreaded. She got away from me, in of all places, Roswell New Mexico. She even got me arrested. Escaping was not difficult. I was once held by the United States military. A sheriff's office in a poky little town like this was no great difficulty.

I established a pattern, getting arrested and escaping four times in as many months. I made sure that the reports got to Roswell. I was using it to lull their Sheriff, Jim Valenti, into a sense of security. I wanted him to think I was far away and no threat. I made a detour to New York, where we (I and the Minister of Propaganda, known here as Nicholas) stashed the second set of the Royal Four. They are progressing as we expected. They are the defective set, though it is helpful to know what to look for.

They will look similar as far as facial features go. But God willing they will act differently. I do not believe in any of these human religions, but it is sometimes a comfort to believe in a higher power. I pray that the other set will be different than this. This set could never pass as royalty. They are so uncultured; I would despair at turning them into decent servants. The one who took the name Zan is their leader, though it is contested by Lonnie and Rath. The only one they got even remotely right is the simpering, clinging Ava. She is as loyal here as she was there. I wonder why I got the spitfire, instead of the mouse. Which side of the mirror is more accurate to what she was? I cannot see this cringing piece of gutter trash as a future queen. But it is… satisfying to see the one who humbled me, herself so humbled.

I have established the pattern, I have completed my duty as guardian to the rejects. I will fetch Ava…known here as Tess, and we will continue our search. I am sure she will agree that she has had enough of suburbia. I do not understand humans. What is the point of ripping out all the trees in a certain area and then naming things after them? For example, Elm Street, Oak Avenue etc.

She will have asserted her power and will be feeling superior. I will crush that with long hours, little sleep and only the amount of food she needs to survive. She will have been lulled by her time with the humans. She will not expect it, but she will come willingly. I have inculcated in her the desire to return home, to do her duty, to find the others. She does not like me, but will try to use me as a tool to get home. I will let her feel superior, but will use her skills and talents more effectively than she can use mine.

I am passing the 'Welcome to Roswell Sign.' It really is ridiculous, this town. It disgusts me as an example of the sheer wasteful tastelessness, barrenness, and stupidity of humanity.

I have my orders from Nicholas. He was the Minister of Propaganda back home. He know all the Royal's faults failings and foibles. They told him willingly so he could gloss them over. Except for Avadalia. She did not trust him, but had no proof. She said nothing. 

Maybe if she had we would have discovered that he was Khivar's plant.

Nicholas told me that after the death of the Royal Four he deliberately let it leak out that Vilandra and Khivar had been lovers. He used it to topple what was left of the royal throne and to install Khivar as the people's dictator. He also told me that it was all a lie—Vilandra had never been unfaithful to her beloved. 

While his betrayal sickened me initially, I have resolved it. Forty years on a planet of people no more advanced than the fictional Yahoos from the satire Gulliver's Travels will do that to you. I have even come to admire the ruthless brilliance hidden behind that child's face. Appearances are deceptive, and Nicholas uses that to his benefit.

I am at the public records office now. I go inside, and look through adoption records, foster care records, school registrations, looking for Tess' name. It is time to move on. I informed her before this to be ready to go at the appointed hour.

She is waiting when I get there. "I knew you were coming." She says, dully. She carries a small suitcase, and a backpack.

"Get in." I wave at the car. "We've lost a lot of time on our search already."

"Why can't I stay? You'll know where I am. When you find the others you can come back for me."

I snort. She's a foolish child here, not the poised woman who deceived my wisdom and Nicholas's relentless intellect. Nicholas resents her more than I do. He is trapped in the body of a child, so his intellect is all he has left. He can not bear that she deceived him. He is driven nearly out of his mind when he contemplates that a girl of tender years, whose only claim to the palace was the heart of the king defeated the wily and cunning noble accustomed to court intrigues and battles of wits. He was a lusty court figure then, notorious for wild love affairs with violent ends. His lust for women extended to power. He always seemed to walk the wire, just short of being dismissed for plotting treason. The only thing that saved him was his influence at court among the higher up nobles—the commoners certainly hated him. Had reason, too.

Avadalia bided her time silently. Eventually, Nicholas gave himself away. Avadalia got the evidence she needed. She presented it to Zan. He in turn told Rath and Vilandra of the plot to destroy the people's newfound faith in her. They confronted Nicholas, and Khivar. They were preparing to denounce them to the press, when a strike force attacked the palace. They died moments later. Nicholas' enmity against the girl who nearly destroyed his power has grown deeper and more bitter in the years we have been stuck here. And stuck we are. The Royal Four must unite, find the granolith, and activate it before any of us can leave the planet.

I sometimes think Nicholas resents her most for that. Simply by being born the way she was, she has powers and abilities he does not have. She can survive here. He can not survive without the granolith. He resents everything about her. Sometimes I believe that he cares more about getting revenge on her for what she and Zan did in the past than he cares about returning home. I have never let them meet. It is not because I particularly like Tess. It is my duty to protect her, to shape her as a proper queen. And even more important, I want to go home. If they ever meet he will destroy her. And my chances of getting home.

I have severed ties with Nicholas. He is dangerous. I am bringing Tess with me on a search for the real Royal Four. I will not allow her to die at the hands of the madman who could so easily worm his way into her life. I beckon her into the car. She stares out the window, and waves goodbye to life as the sheriff's daughter.


	10. Chapter 10

Part X

I know that they are very angry with me.

I know they don't understand.

I know that I don't deserve their forgiveness. Especially his.

I saw him in my dream last night. I don't know if it was really him or not. Sometimes I talk with Isabel in my dreams, and Michael too. Isabel and Michael have something, some connection between them. Though she is the only one who can choose to dream walk as she calls it, Michael sometimes shows up. Max does it rarely. There. I did it. I said his name. I'll say it again. Max.

I wish it didn't hurt to think about how he looked at me. He was so happy to see me. He wasn't going to let go of me. Why did I let go first? I knew he wasn't going to leave me. I let go to protect him. He has such a beautiful life. I'm so dirty. I have no place in his world. His world is filled with warm houses and loving family, and good food and wonderful smells. New and clean. Everything he has is new and clean!

I don't deserve to be around him. Nothing I own is nice enough for him. For them. They're all wonderful and…what's the word? Idealistic. They all still believe in so much good. Even Michael, who doesn't quite have the wonderful life that Max and Isabel have, believes in goodness. They think they want to go home. They think they want to know where we came from.

They asked me if I knew.

I lied to them. I did not deserve them, their kindness, their love, their protection. I didn't deserve it from Mrs. Evans, who was so gentle when she brushed my hair. I didn't deserve Mrs. Deluca's help with all my clothes. I didn't deserve Kyle, my brother. And I certainly didn't deserve Sheriff Valenti. He just brought me home, and it was home.

It's probably the only home I'll ever have.

I shouldn't say that. I sound bitter. I'm not. I'm glad it's me living like this instead of one of them. I'm glad they have their beautiful life with shiny toys and nice houses. I tried to explain it to him when I saw him last night. He was so sad. "Why, Tess, why? Why did you leave?"

I told him that Nasedo came for me.

"So?" He said. "You could've told him about us. Then maybe we could've gone home."

I couldn't explain that I don't trust Nasedo. I told him that he has never seen what happens to people that Nasedo thinks ask too many questions about us. I said that I would come back when it was all over.

He asked what it was.

I didn't answer, because I don't really know. But when it happens, I will know. I told Max that I missed him. Then he left. It hurts. I didn't get to ask about Kyle or the Sheriff or Isabel or his Mom or Michael or Mrs. Deluca and her noisy daughter. I didn't even get to tell him I love him. SO what? I know I'm a kid. I know we won't like get married—we're ten this time around, even though in our last lives we were in love. Sometimes I wish I remembered for real. Nasedo wants me to remember, to know so desperately that even when I do remember things I only tell him what he drags out of me.

I know some people would say that I am too mistrustful. To them I say, "Would you trust someone who considers the entire human race a pernicious self-important lot of vermin?"

I couldn't tell Max that I left so that he will never meet the real vermin. Because, hard as it is to imagine, there is worse than Nasedo. His name is Nicholas. Names that start with "N" are generally a bad sign in my acquaintance.

He went away, and I'm trying not to cry. It doesn't help that I went away first. I miss him so much. I thought I missed him before, because I remember him a little. He is so different here, and I love the boy I met. I wish I had the chance to grow up with him. But I love him enough to make this sacrifice for him. It is the only gift I have to give to him.

I miss Michael. I miss Kyle. I miss Isabel. I miss the Sheriff.

I miss the way Michael held onto my hand—like he wasn't ever going to let me go. I miss the boy that I think could've been my brother like Kyle's my brother.

I miss the fights Kyle and I used to have. I miss teasing him about the crush he had on Liz Parker. I tortured him with the fact that I had slept in her bedroom. I made him beg me to describe how it looked. 

I miss Isabel, and having a friend who is a girl to talk about boys and hair and clothes and makeup with. She knew so much, and she wasn't shy about telling me stuff either. We watched TV and ate popcorn. She knew how to make things taste right.

I miss the Sheriff, who I think really loved me like his daughter. He tucked me in, and he let me have a night light, and he gave me a book about the stars. I know that there's a destiny waiting for me in the stars. But they are still beautiful.

Destiny is Nicholas' big word these days. He doesn't say so, but I know that he is getting scared. Nicholas is applying pressure to make him find the other members of the real royal four. 

There's a set in New York. They got everybody all wrong, but if they would just work together, they would be a force to be reckoned with. Lonnie laughed at me, Rath spat, Zan nodded and said "I know". Ava, who is supposedly the other me, cowers all the time. They scare her, but she is special to Zan. I think she lets them scare her so that he will protect her. She wants to be protected.

I hate the words royal four. Nasedo pounds into my head that I am the fourth, the least, the last, the one with the lowest value. If you look at us like cars, Isabel is a Ferrari, Max is a Mercedes, Michael is a Harley Davidson motorcycle and I'm a '76 Ford pickup.

No. That isn't true. I sound bitter again. I really am not. I am proud that I can make this sacrifice for Max. Maybe one day, when I have sacrificed enough, I will go back and I will be worthy of his world.

His hot apple pie and fresh cookies world.


	11. Chapter 11

Part XI

Isabel

Boys are stupid.

There. I said it. But I don't feel any better. Mom always says that if you talk about your feelings, if you say what's bothering you, it makes you feel better. But I don't feel any better.

We're in sixth grade now. No more Roswell Elementary. No more all day five days a week with Michael guaranteed. We have some classes together, but not all. Max and Michael agreed that it would be suspicious if we had all our classes together.

I'm the one who can dreamwalk, so I'm the one who talks to Tess, most of the time. She's really sad that she had to leave. She explained it to me so that it made sense, but the boys don't want to hear it. That's why I say they're stupid. They miss her, but won't let me talk about her. Max even made Mom take down Michael's old drawings of her.

Tess said that she'll come back. She promised.

But some promises get broken.

She always wants to know about Kyle and his dad. I don't know them very well, but Max and Michael are starting to let Kyle be their friend. It makes Tess happy to hear that. She cried when I told her about Michael's foster father. She begged me to do something, and in the morning I begged Mama. Mom. I'm in sixth grade now, it's time to stop using baby words.

I told Mama that I thought Michael's foster father was mean to him. I asked her if he could be moved to our house. I asked if he could stay in Roswell, even if he couldn't come to our house. She frowned and sighed, and tried to explain the foster care system. I tried to explain how much Michael hates living with Hank, and that the only reason he hasn't run away to find Tess is because me and Max are here, and Max wouldn't forgive him.

Mama sighed, and said, "I'll look into it baby, but unless Hank is really hurting Michael, or Michael stands up to tell the world that he's being mistreated there's not much I can do."

Tess was upset when I told her. She was as upset as I am every time I hear Michael climbing in Max's room. He doesn't come in my window any more. He comforted me for the first week after Tess went away, when the nightmares were bad. Worse than they've been since that Christmas when we vocalized what was missing. Because now we were whole for a little while. But we're back to missing someone.

Any way, one night he fell asleep next to me. Daddy came in and found him and yelled really really really loud. Michael jumped in front of me, like he wanted to protect me. Max and Mom came running, and Mom got sniffly, because she didn't hear me crying. Dad was very very mad. But Mom stuck up for us. So we weren't in trouble, but there's a new rule: Michael can't sleep in my room, or even come in unless we leave the door open. I don't understand it.

There's a lot I don't understand. I said that to Mom too, once. She said "That's all right, you're still a little girl. When you grow up and you do understand, you won't want. Enjoy this end of the spectrum baby cause there's no going back."

It's Thanksgiving next week. And after that, it's time to prepare for Christmas! Christmas is the greatest holiday in the whole entire world! There's presents and a tree and lights and ornaments and cookies and good smells and turkey and songs and carols and families are together and everything is perfect.

That's my goal: I want a perfect Christmas.

Oh good, you're still there. As soon as I said that to Michael and Max they ran away. Wimps.

Maybe, if Christmas is good enough, Tess's present will be to come home.


	12. Chapter 12

Part XII  
Michael

We're in seventh grade now. Isabel doesn't get to talk to Tess as much. She swears she's the only one who can dreamwalk but I think that maybe Tess can block her. So that she only talks to us when she wants to. She has the same kind of mental image as I do. In dreams, we project ourselves as we see ourselves, and Isabel can sometimes see that. She sometimes sees the bruises that Hank puts on me, even though Max heals them. Even though the bruises have healed physically, in my mind I usually see myself with a black eye for days after.

I see bruises on Tess too, but she doesn't have a Max to heal them. So even in her mind they last longer. She won't let anyone ask about them, or about what she's protecting us from. Her and Isabel finally made me and Max see that she went away to protect us, but won't say protect us from what.

She has explained that we are all part of the Royal Four. She said that in the place we came from, Max was a king. Isabel, his sister, was a princess. I was Max's best friend there too, and I was engaged to Isabel. SO we were older there than here. I was also in charge of the military. Tess said she was the queen. She won't say what else, but she smiles a little when we ask.

She also explained that there's something we can use to go home, but no one knows where it is. She said that the man who took her away wants to find it. I said, "He didn't take you, you went with him." She got a look on her face like that deer that was on the road got when the headlights hit it. She said she went with him because if she didn't he would've come after her and everyone she was with, like Kyle and the Sheriff. 

She said he might have found us, meaning the other three. She said we might know things we don't know yet, which didn't make sense. She said that we have lots of memories we aren't aware of inside of us. She said Nasedo (That's his name) might find them, and use them. She said that would be a very bad thing.

I believed her. Isabel believed her. And Max believed us. He's still mad that she didn't say anything before she went away, but what she told Isabel was that if she had to see him or me or her to say good bye it would've been too sad and she would've brought disaster down on our heads, and eventually on all of planet Earth.

Tess is a little dramatic.

So, like I said, seventh grade now. We're doing harder stuff in all our classes. Except English. I sleep through that class and get As on everything. Including essays, cause they don't look at names while they grade 'em. I'm good at Math, but that's boring too. Isabel makes it interesting. She's the only reason I don't sleep through that class. 

We're taking Natural History in science. It's all about rocks. Not even Isabel can always stay awake through that class. We don't have it together, but she tells me about it at lunch. She still sits with us at lunch, even though the fashion twins and her other popular friends make fun of her for it. It helps that Kyle sometimes sits with us too. Usually not. But sometimes. Max plays basketball with him, and even without powers, Max is pretty good. 

We (Me and Max, not Isabel) still avoid after school activities. We founded the three fifteen club. The bell rings at 3:15 and we book it out of there. There are no other members, just us.

Christmas is coming up, and I'm starting to worry about presents. I don't have much money and this is Roswell. It's not like I can mow lawns to make a few bucks—there are no lawns to mow. Who would I have to buy presents for? Max and Isabel of course. That stupid DeLuca girl too, maybe. And Mrs. Evans.

Two years ago she gave me crayons. Last year she gave me a real drawing book, and an art book that tells you lots of stuff about drawing. She gave me oil crayons, which are different than little kid crayons.

This year, I'm working really hard on a portrait. It's of Isabel and Max, but I keep getting something wrong. It looks like them, but it doesn't look like them at the same time. I can get the shapes right, but I can't get that look on Izzy's face when she giggles, or the expression Max gets when he relaxes. I haven't been able to make the paper show how much love there is for her, not only from them but from me too. I'm still trying, but I'm getting desperate. What if I can't get it right? What else can I give her? She's given me SO much. I want to give her something back, but I don't know what, other than this picture.

Maria DeLuca is easy-anything with too much glitter would be fine. Max, well, I got it taken care of. There's this really old comic book store downtown. The guy who runs it is a nut, who makes me nervous. He really believes in aliens and government conspiracies/cover ups. And he looks at me like I'm a bug. But he had this awesome comic book—original X-men and everything, that I know Max wanted. It took pretty much all the savings I had from some yard work I've done, but I got it.

Isabel is the tricky one. She always loves presents, but at this point it can't be anything too big cause I'm a boy and she's a girl and I don't want everyone making a big deal about it and embarrassing her. I saw this really pretty locket in a window downtown, but when I asked the man inside how much it was, he said twenty-five dollars. I don't have twenty-five dollars right now. And that locket is going to get sold soon, because it's so pretty.

I asked him if I could put a down payment on it. I know about down payments and lay away from Isabel. If there's ever been anyone in Roswell who knows how to shop, Isabel is she. He sneered. "No. Now beat it you little punk."

I asked Mrs. Parker if they needed any help at the Crashdown. Sometimes she lets me wash dishes and she pays me, but she said she's so very sorry but she can't right now because the child labor people are cracking down on everyone, but especially her cause she lets Liz work there. Liz is her daughter, and she's a brat.

I was getting desperate, so I asked Mrs. DeLuca if I could stock shelves. She sighed and said she was having trouble paying her one full time employee. Business is bad this year.

Finally, I asked the Sheriff if there's anything I could do for him. The Sheriff isn't as bad as most adults, but you have to watch all adults. He looked surprised, and asked why I wanted the job. I said that I needed some cash to buy Christmas presents. He made a face like he'd sucked on a lemon, but said, "Sure, we have filing that needs doing." He got one of the deputies to help me, and then he left. I think he talked to Hank, cause when I got home he yelled at me for going to the Sheriff for money. He gave me ten bucks, slapped me upside the head, burped and left for the bar.

So I'll be able to get Isabel the most perfect locket in the world. I just hope it's still there. Because Isabel deserves perfect. Anything less is unacceptable.


	13. Chapter 13

Part XIIIMax

It's summer now. Next year me and Michael and Isabel start high school. It's supposed to be the best summer we've had so far.

And I guess it is.

Dad talked to Mom so I have as much space as I need. Actually, they usually kick me out of the house and tell me to play outside before I say, "I want to go out."

Our parents are 'deeply concerned' about Isabel. She runs with the popular crowd. And lately the popular incumbent freshmen girls think it's cool to run around with some of the high school boys. Dad does not like that. Mom gets this pinched look and says, "Well, we just have to trust her, Philip. After all she's our daughter. We raised her right."

I tell Kyle that if she ever winds up in a 'bad place' (Ie pregnant, drunk or high) I'll hold him personally responsible.

Kyle takes care of her. She won't let me do the job anymore, and Michael got verbally beaten up when he suggested she might not be ready for the kind of crap that crowd does.

Kyle and Michael are my best guy friends. Well, only, best, why quibble? I'm not like Isabel. She needs the sun. I prefer the shadows. I can watch from the shadows. I can watch, and think and plan. I'm a careful person. I like having a plan. I like having thought things out ahead of time.

Michael does not. He plays it by ear. He's a spur of the minute kind of guy. He says, "Details, details. Who needs 'em?"

I say "It's the small stuff that differentiates 'good' from 'great'."

Tess would back me up. But Tess isn't here. I know Isabel and Michael still think I'm mad at her. Honestly I'm not. Not mad. Still hurt that she didn't trust me enough to tell me she was leaving. But then, Isabel passes on her messages. She and Isabel still talk through their dreams. I wish she would talk to me. The last time we had a dream conversation was Christmas. She had bruises on her cheeks and I wanted to heal her so bad—I wanted to make her better, but she wasn't there physically, just her mental projection of herself.

She wouldn't talk about the bruises, or how she got them. She's very stubborn. I think it must be a trait that everyone on our planet has. Or maybe they chose the most stubborn people and sent us here. I wonder why though. I wonder why a lot. Why are all four of us here? Are we the only ones? What are we supposed to do? Are we supposed to go back to where we came from? Can we go back?

I have lots of good questions, and not a lot of answers.

Tess says she has the answers. She says that once you have the answers, you don't want them. She says you want to go back to not knowing. She says not knowing is easier. I say "Tell me any way. I need to know."

And she says, "Needing to know hurts. Knowing hurts more."

And I asked her if knowing gave her the bruises on her face.

She said yes.

I said, "Tell me, so I'll get bruises and not you. I can heal them anyway."

And she shook her head. "I'll tell you but you wouldn't remember. How is Kyle?"

I told her I was friends with him now, so that when she comes home her brother and me will be okay with each other. And you know what she did? She smiled. Honest. She said "I'm glad."

I asked when she will come home.

She said, "I will come home when it's safe."

I asked if it was dangerous.

She nodded.

I asked how.

She said that there are people who aren't people, who are enemies. She told me that they watch a group of people like me and Isabel and Michael and even her. She said the people who are like us but not us live alone, no parents. These people who watch them think finding food and shelter and clothes tests them. Makes them stronger. The watchers test the powers of the aliens and their control too.

She said they treat the aliens like lab rats. She said that they have 'tagged' her. She said if she was with us she would lead them to us. She said that once she gets the tag off she'll come home. I didn't believe her but I felt sick at the same time. I asked her about the people aliens who are us but not us.

Her face (I still think she looks like love) told me a lot. It told me that as bad as everything is, she think she can handle it with me but not me and Isabel but not Isabel and Michael but not Michael. I don't think it's fair that me but not me gets two Tesses while I don't even get one. I told her that and she started to cry. She said she would come back when she could and that by then she hoped I had grown up. 

My mother is always saying I'm too grown up, too mature. She says I'm not like other kids.

Tess seemed older than my mother then. Older than my teachers, older than anyone I know. She seemed too old. She needs to be younger and I need to be older before I can see her again.

What a world.

What a stupid crazy wonderful world.

Wonderful cause she's in it. Stupid cause there's a lot that isn't wonderful, and crazy because the not wonderful stuff is keeping her and me apart.


	14. Chapter 14

Part XIV

It's finally happened. Finally happening. I can go home to Max and Michael and Isabel, and I don't need to worry. I could dance. I could sing, I could laugh out loud with pure joy. The people on the bus have glanced strangely once or twice at me, and my beaming smiles. What does the short, skinny blond in tight jeans and a sweater have to smile about so? With me I have a backpack. That's it. I'm hoping that when I get there, Isabel and I can shop for a new wardrobe. It gets hot in the desert, and the clothes I own are clothes for the end of winter in New York. There, the canyons are steel and concrete instead of glowing rock. Thinking of rock canyons and climbing them with the family I know I will finally, finally have makes me want to dance and sing and laugh.

But I don't know how to dance, I have never sung, and I do not remember the last time I laughed out loud. So I settle for quick smiles. It seems wrong to be happy under these circumstances, but in another way it seems right.

I will start from the beginning—well, no, that would go back too far.

I'll start with what happened the last time I 'talked' to Max… No, that's too far too. That was, well, over a year ago. I think. Nasedo isn't real big on calendars, and when you're on the run, days tend to blur together.

Okay, why don't I just start and explain as I go along?

Nasedo is dead. He tried to make a deal with Nicholas, and Nicholas double-crossed him. At least I think that's what happened. I wasn't there, so it's hard to know for certain. Nasedo was giving Lonnie and Rath a 'test.' And I am not talking about spelling here.

Ava (she's me-but-not-me) thinks that Lonnie and Rath got cocky and tried to strike a deal with Nicholas. She believes that part of that deal was for Lonnie and Rath to get rid of Nasedo. She thinks they 'accidentally' made a mistake, then couldn't undo it and their own power ate them. Nicholas showed up not an hour after it happened, demanding we hand over the granalith to him. We did not even know what the 'granalith' was.

We had to do it. I swear, we didn't plan it, but he was going to kill us. Zan and Ava worked together and unleashed this—this-- ball of energy straight out of Star Trek. I didn't know they could do that, but I threw…something at them. It felt like pulling something straight out of my heart to protect everyone I've ever known, or let myself care about here. It felt like pulling something out of a heart that loves me. A heart that's far away.

It's true, in my time I have met some bad people. But there's good people too. That's the difference with Zan and Ava and me as compared to Rath and Lonnie. Zan and Ava and me believe that the good people some how out weigh the bad ones. Rath and Lonnie only saw the bad. And in the end, it really was their loss.

It seems a high price to pay—too high maybe—but now that Nicholas and Nasedo are gone, and the rest of the skins blew themselves up. (I don't know why, I don't have all the answers, as humans reckon it I'm only about 15 and a half) So anyway, we discovered, you got it, the granalith. Well, not the real one. A replica you might say. But a functional one. And with it a manual. 

With all three of us, it didn't take so long to figure it out. To, in a manner of speaking, decode it. Ava and Zan are more alien than human—I am more human than alien. It's a very odd mix, but well, hey. We share genes. We found out that there's another replica of the granalith in Roswell, but the real granalith is hidden somewhere on our home planet.

Each replica can transport four of us home. There are only six total, instead of the original eight. I have talked with Zan and Ava. We agreed that Zan should rule our world. And Ava, will stand beside him, helping him at every step along the way.

They want me to come with them. They say that if the others are so human, and remember so little they will be happier here…but I will not be really happy anywhere without them. I also am thinking of Ava, and me. We've learned to live with each other, but it's really, really scary to see your own face on someone else. Half the time I know what she will say before she says it. And she knows what I will say too. But we are not exactly the same. We are different people, the way identical twins, who have the same genes, are different people.

There are little habits of Ava's—for example, she flips her hair when she feels like she's being backed into a corner. I've caught myself doing the same thing, completely unconsciously. And we both bite our nails. And when she's thinking really hard, she plays with her earrings.

Zan doesn't really understand why we get so freaked out by the fact that we both like to dunk croissants in Tabasco laced coffee. But we've never disagreed about Zan. He is part of Ava. And even though Ava and I seem interchangeable to outsiders (Nasedo and Nicholas), we are not. Ava and Zan have a bond, one deeper than mine to Max.

But I understand that. They've been together since the day they came out of the pods. Max and I are thousands of miles apart. They have grown up exactly the same. They RELY on each other for everything, from watching each other's backs, to getting decent food. They are more alien, so they have stronger memories etc. And they have figured out how to use each other's powers, how to use each other's strengths, and how to compensate for flaws.

Not that I don't have a bond to Max. I do, and it's deep. It let me pull power from him though we're a continent apart when we had that showdown. Oh God, now I sound like I'm talking about something out of a bad science fiction movie. Or maybe a western. Appropriate since I'm somewhere in Oklahoma. My life suddenly seems disturbingly similar to a really bad cross between a western and a sci fi movie.

Never mind. So I've spent the majority of my time since I left Roswell on the run with Nasedo, and the majority of the past year with Zan and Ava.

And I was never tempted. Max is not Zan. Zan is not Max. Zan is Ava's soul mate. They are two halves of a coin. We said our goodbyes, and I watched them go home. Ava and I have had some difficulties. It's because we all have little traits, little quirks that are entirely our own. Our sense of self is as much wrapped up in twirling the ends of one's hair as the hair is wrapped around the finger. Suddenly meeting a stranger who twists her hair the exact same way, a girl who is wearing your face…well it puts you on the defensive. It's like being robbed of individuality. 

Say what you will about the isolation and loneliness that comes with being a future alien queen, you sure do feel unique. And then there was this person who was like me in so many ways…but different. But we were still both REALLY defensive. We got over it enough to be cautious friends within a few weeks. We both wanted to get out of the New York slum, and out from under the thumbs of Nicholas and Nasedo. And she wanted a life with Zan, and I wanted one with Max.

Rath's crude jokes aside, Zan never looked at me the way he looks at Ava. And I think that eased the tension between us. After all, we had to share a face, a voice, gestures…but we weren't competing over a man.

Ava promised to take care of herself, of Zan, and our people. She even said I would be welcome to join her. Imagine!

Zan invited me and Max and Michael and Isabel to come any time we wanted. 'I'm sure we can find some way to use you.' He said—and I don't know if he was joking. But Ava will keep the thread of humanity strong. She won't let it snap, won't let him become what Nasedo and Nicholas were. And he'll do the same for her. He'll appreciate her, and love her. He won't let her slip away from him. He won't let her doubt herself too much.

So all in all the people of Antar are very lucky. They're getting a king and a queen who will be just. Who have felt the crushing weight of injustice, intolerance, and ignorance. Only those who have experienced it know how to combat it.

I am on my way to Roswell. To home.

I will tell them of course, that they can go 'home.' But I will tell them that once there they can't come back. I will tell them that Mr. and Mrs. Evans can't come, that if they leave, it's forever. They won't ever eat dinner together again. 

It might not bother Michael so much, but he will stay with Isabel. And Isabel, despite how much she's grown in the years since we stood face to face, is still very much the Daddy's girl and Mama's angel. If I had parents like them, I wouldn't go. It's strange—Max is closest to me, but I know the least what he'll decide. I just know that I'll go with him…if he'll let me. Honestly, my greatest fear is that he'll want nothing to do with me. He was so angry when I left…and I can only hope he isn't angry still.

But after years apart, I know I can live in his world. I can live in it, and flourish in it. And I know that if he chooses, he can survive, and probably even prosper in the world we might have a hand in ruling.

I hope the Sheriff and Kyle aren't too mad either. I'll explain it to them the best that I can, "The man who raised me in the beginning contacted me and said he would kill everyone I care about if I didn't come with him to help him find an alien king. He had a gun. I tried to contact you. Did you ever get my letter?" 

I did send a letter. I hope they got it, but you never know. "I got away from him a year ago and I've been working my way back to you. I missed you."

The Sheriff might pout a bit. (all men pout, some just disguise it better) He might ask why I didn't trust him, a Sheriff, with information like that while I was still in Roswell. I've learned the trick to lying. It's to tell as much of the truth as possible, and let the truth stand on its own. If people hear the truth in your voice they'll make whatever connections they have to make to believe you in their own heads.

And Kyle… Kyle is friends with Michael and Max and Isabel now. Thank God. I think he'll accept me back without too much fuss.

I just can't wait to get there.

I must've fallen asleep, because we just got into town. The bus has stopped. I hold tight to my backpack. I know the way by heart. In the years I've been away, I have visualized this millions of times. I've planned every detail, from the quickest way to get to Max and Isabel's house to the way I'll knock on the door, to what I'll say to Mrs. Evans, to what I'll say when I see them, to what I'll say to the Sheriff.

But my plan's already going south. Because I see Max on the next street corner, holding hands with the girl that attacked me the night I slept in her bed. Liz Parker.


	15. Chapter 15

Part XV

I am too stunned to react for approximately three seconds. Then I adjust the backpack on my shoulder. What should I do? Should I just go up to them and say, "Hi, remember me? I'm Tess, your soul mate. You might not really (remember I mean) but we were married in a past life, and guess what, we're aliens! We can go back to our home planet now, or stay here and act like humans."? Or should I get back on that bus and let him live a simple and relatively uncomplicated life?

The bus has already pulled away, so that option is gone. A stiff wind whips through my hair. Sand swirls. I decide to go to the nearest restaurant and fix my hair and face. I'm human enough to want to look good when I talk to Max. Even if he rejects me, I'll know it wasn't for a dirty face… But I know Max, or I did. I know that if his heart reached out to mine, the way I look wouldn't really matter to him. SO this is for me. I want a minute to myself, to get over the shock and get the framework of a plan. I also want to look good, like a queen I guess you could say, instead of like a pauper next to…her.

I emerge from the bathroom with a clean face, shining hair, and clothes that are semi-attractive. I don't want to attract attention, just in case somebody noticed the girl with the dirty face and travel stained clothes go in the bathroom. I venture out, and something makes me turn to look at the counter where Mrs. Parker stood, all those years ago. In a way, this is essential to coming home. I must retrace the steps I took the first time.

First, the Crashdown and an insult from Liz Parker. Got that covered. Next the Valentis, and establishing a kinship with Kyle. Then a day at school, and Max. Max. My heart stops as I see him again, through the window. He is pushing Liz away. I want to run out, grab her hair, and throw myself into his arms. But that would be wrong. And embarrassing. Oh, who the hell cares anymore! 

If he rejects me I can always go somewhere else. I hear Florida is like New York but warmer…

I march out, and I know that my face is flushed. I approach them. My resolve has almost deserted me. With the last bit of it, I say, "Hello Max."

He turns so fast I think he might develop whiplash.

I am panting. It is done. The ball is in his court now.


	16. Chapter 16

Part XVIMax

There is not a single thought in my mind. All that echoes inside that cast empty space that is my head are her words. "Hello Max." The sweetest words I think I have ever heard to this point. But she would have to say them in front of Liz Parker, as I am working my hardest to get rid of her.

What she must think of me? Oh my God…

My brain feels like a car that won't start. It's making a wheezing sound generally associated with asthmatic dogs. Finally, it receives a violent kick start, when Liz tugs on my hand.

I hastily step away from Liz. "Tess?" I ask in a voice that I know can not possibly be mine.

She looks at me quite seriously. "You look like a fish." She comments.

Somehow, that is not exactly the thing I imagined her saying at this moment.

I study her. She is trying to be calm, she is trying to collect herself. But she has been affected by the sight of me as deeply as I am impressed by the sight of her. 

I am humiliated. 

I will explain why. Liz Parker is an absolute brat. She's a spoiled Daddy's girl and teacher's pet. She wants to go to Harvard and study molecular biology. I am absolutely sure that if she ever found out my secret she would stick me under a microscope herself, before turning me over to the government, which has better microscopes. She would probably try to watch them dissect me. 

Somehow, she got the idea that I like her. Good lord, this sounds like one of those shows Isabel watches. Dawson's Stream or something like that. 

Never mind. I blame Liz Parker's interest in me on Kyle Valenti. Kyle dated her. I do not know why. She is a science geek, and she always looks scared. Kyle is a jock. He is also, under that layer, a decent guy. So, Kyle came to see that Liz had trapped him. He decided to retreat and do it gracefully by making her think she has prospects on the dating front and that it was her idea to break up with him anyway. 

So I have not been able to shake Liz Parker. I decided to talk to her about it today. Because, despite the fact that she is kind of pretty, it's nice to have someone around who likes you. Someone safe. Because, unless I tell her our secret, she won't pick it up. She's too focused on herself. But I finally got fed up with playing it safe. So I asked her to meet me today. I intended to tell her, as politely as possible, that she is getting too intense and needs to back off. I wouldn't mind passing on that advice to Maria, her best friend, who is stalking Michael. Isabel told me this. She was outraged, though she declared that of course Michael was nothing but a friend. Yeah. Right. She must think I'm blind.

Suddenly I am mad. How could she do this to me? Even I do not know which she I mean. I am mad at Tess for showing up and mad at Liz for being there because while she's there I can't say what I want to say and suddenly my concentration is broken. Liz has snaked an arm around me. "Max, who is this?" She whines ingratiatingly.

I wince. "Liz, weren't you listening?"

Tess has gone white. "I'm sorry I interrupted." She says.

Now I am red. "No, you didn't, truly, you didn't. Liz was just leaving." I wonder idly if Michael and Isabel would ever forgive me for incinerating Liz in her shoes in broad daylight in downtown Roswell? "I'm so glad you're back, but why the hell didn't you tell me you were coming? How did you get here anyway? A car, a plane? Where the hell have you been? And why in God's name did you choose now to come back?"

She grins. "I didn't know you had a temper."

She gives Liz a stare that is roughly the temperature of liquid nitrogen. Liz releases my arm. "Max?" She whines.

I want to hug Tess. I want to tell her I missed her. I want to kiss her. I want to say, "My God, you are beautiful." I want to ask if the danger she hinted about is really gone or if she has given in to me, and that we will fight together. I wonder if the tracking collar is gone. I wonder what she knows about where we came from. I wonder what kind of perfume she is wearing. Whatever it is, is tickling my nose. I want to tell her that even as a child, when I told Michael that she had a face like love, I never imagined she would be this beautiful. I understand what Shakespeare meant when he said

"Oh, she doth teach the torches to burn bright!  
It seems she hangs upon the cheek of night  
Like a rich jewel in an Ethiope's ear  
Beauty too rich for use, for earth too dear."

Or maybe that thing about stars burning in her eyes. They do, you know. I look in her eyes and I see stars.

I know one thing for sure. The girl of my dreams (literally, I mostly know her through dreams) is standing a foot away, and I can't touch her because Perfect Parker is about a mile too close.

Tess is way, way too beautiful to be of this earth. Is that a characteristic of our kind? My sister was approached by a modeling agency when she was thirteen. Dad threw a kitchen sponge at the agent who came to our door, and Mom was sharpening knives when her latest pursuer came to pick her up for a 'lunch date'. He quickly changed the phrase to appointment, to consultation. Our parents are protective. Our parents are LAWYERS. Good. She gets mad at them, instead of me when they say, "You can not date anyone who is more than two years older than you and then only if we meet him, cross examine him and administer drug and psych exams." Michael is the exception to Dad's general anti-boys around Isabel policy, since Mom still counts him as one of the kids.

Instead of saying any of the things I should, I stare so much I get called a fish. Not an ego booster. My mother calls me a smooth talker. Where are the words now? I am tongue-tied. I have never been in this state before.

Finally, I grab her and hug her so tight I don't think either of us can breathe. I don't care and she isn't complaining (maybe cause she doesn't have any oxygen in her lungs) I don't kiss her. It's too soon for that, but the simple contact is reassuring in ways I cannot describe.

When I release her, she smiles up at me. Her eyes, which are either stars or ocean water, her perfect Cupid's bow cherry red mouth, her adorable nose, her shining hair, her heart shaped face lead me to one conclusion. I am looking at the love of my life. The girl of my dreams, my better half. Liz Parker be damned, Tess is the one for me. I lean down tentatively and brush my lips against hers.

She deepens the kiss, and I am falling through the stars. I see inside her heart. I see me, and I know she really did not want to leave. I see that she has a question for me and Michael and Isabel. I do not see the question, because she draws back.

"We're doing things out of order." She whispers. "Take me to my family please."

And so, I take her hand. I lace my fingers with her, and we stroll away. I ignore Liz, who incidentally, now looks more like a fish than I did, and her staring. I ignore every person I know, ready to float away with the knowledge that Tess really did come back. And she may be scarred, and she may have changed (she grew up…so did I. It happens) but we can make this spark between us grow.

And we will change the world, my Tess and me.

Right after we have a long, serious talk, and possibly a knock down drag out fight. Cause I'm gonna do anything I have to to keep her right here with me. Where she belongs, is by my side, and I will go anywhere to keep her there.


	17. Chapter 17

Part XVII Isabel

Michael Guerin is the single most annoying, infuriating, adorable alien on the face of the planet.

Don't laugh. It's the truth. I swear it. It would be true if we were on an entire planet of aliens. But we aren't, and here his only competition is my brother. I think. We never met any other aliens, except for Tess, but she belonged with us and was a girl anyway. Is a girl.

Actually, I still wonder about Tess. I worry about her. The world can be a cruel place. I entered a few of her dreams without her knowledge. They were horrible.

Sometimes I wonder when she's gonna come home. But, ironically, I was not wondering at the time it would've been most appropriate to wonder. Michael and I were in my room, with the door shut.

Oh, not like we were doing anything! Michael's my friend. My BEST friend, after Max. I love him.

Don't raise your eyebrow like that. I do love him. As a friend. As family. That doesn't explain this little twist I get in my stomach every time he flirts with those stupid waitresses at the Crashdown, or some of the other girls at school. He doesn't flirt with me.

We never talked about it but we both agree—what we have is too good, too important to risk on a romance. Cause after a romance goes sour there's no going back. Trust me. I know. Behind my back some of the bitter ex-girlfriends of the boys I date call me—no. It doesn't matter. I have it all. A pretty face. A mind behind the face. Money. Parents and a brother who loves me. A best friend I would walk through fire for. I'm popular. I have safety and security. I have a future outside of Roswell. And I'm an alien, so that means that even when I spill (which hasn't happened in years) I always look perfect. Not a hair out of place.

That makes some people, especially girls, jealous. Not that anyone knows about the alien part. They just know that I always seem perfect. They don't understand that I'm not really a "serial dater." (I'll bet you anything Perfect Parker coined the term. She hates me.) I can't help it if I flirt a little, and then guys dump their girlfriends. I don't encourage them. That's why I flirt with the attached guys, so they won't get any ideas. Somehow it doesn't really work like that.

Three guys are different. Max, my brother. Michael, my very best friend. And Kyle. I couldn't tell you how or when exactly Kyle turned different. He's just never really been romantic to me. Max likes to joke that they're the only decent guys in Roswell, and that's why I won't date them. He says I intentionally go for morons with the same IQ as a rock or sleazeballs my dad will chase away so I won't get hurt. I tell him to shut up.

But, anyway, Michael and me in my room. I was putting together a photo album at my desk. He was sitting on the bed, watching me and teasing me. I was teasing him back. I'm not sure exactly what I said—something about never getting a waitress when I'm with him. He said it's cause they know they'll look like dogs next to me. I said they've heard of his reputation and know he'll maim their hearts.

He was insisting that they knew no man, particularly him, would even dream of glancing at another woman while I was around. Then (not to sound like a character on Beverly Hills 90210) my heart stopped for a beat. I turned around, and he was standing right behind me. I forgot about the photo album, I forgot what we'd been talking about, forgot everything except his face. His eyes were soulful. Yes. I know that sounds corny as hell. It's true. His mouth—words have not been invented that can describe his mouth.

He leaned down. He was going to kiss me! I knew it. I knew it from years of dating clumsy human boys. I knew that all those idiots and lechers had been leading up to this. To Michael, who is, in spite, or maybe because of being, my best friend. And then Max barged in.

Max does not barge. He knocks politely. And usually if he saw us like this—well, on a GOOD day he would laugh at us and leave us alone to be embarrassed. On a bad day he would threaten to kill Michael.

He didn't even notice. We jumped apart as guilty as sin and he didn't even notice. He was glowing. "She's back." He said. "She's back, she's with me and Perfect Parker is off my case forever."

"Wait a sec." I'll never know if I said it or Michael.

"Who?" I'll never know who said that either.

Max looked at us like we were out of our minds. "TESS." He cried. "Tess is home."

Then Michael and I understood. Max was too blinded by happiness to care that we were confused. Or crazy.

"Where is she?" I know I said that.

"She's with Jim and Kyle. She wanted a little time alone with them. They're her family too. I wanted to tell you, she's got something big to ask us."

"What?" Michael said. "Something big like what? What's she know Max? Where we came from? Why we're here? If we're going back?"

"Those are questions the humans can't answer for each other. It's personal, your answer. But yeah, we have some choices to make." Max was calming down. "Oh, did I interrupt something?"

"Shut up Max." I said. I say that a lot.

Michael was as red as I felt. "Shut up." He said, at the exact same time I did.

"I did, didn't I?" He grinned, looking positively delighted. "Oh, I can see what I'll get out of this now."

I grabbed scissors off the desk. They were very dull manicure scissors. I'd been using them to clip my nails earlier. Now I used them to menace my brother. "Mention this to anybody and I'll cut you apart with these and I'll leave you for the scorpions in the desert."

Max stopped laughing. "I interrupted something serious." He declared. "From now on you leave the door open."

Michael removed the scissors from my hand. "Max, buddy, it's me. Chill."

Max looks doubtful. I grin at him. "Come on Max. He was just showing me what to watch out for on my next date with Jerry."

"Ri-I-I-ight."

Not even I bought that one.

"When's Tess coming?" I ask. "What's she like? Is she still sweet? Is she tall like me? Is--?"

"She is beautiful." Max says. I suddenly realize I've never heard the word beautiful said quite that way before. And suddenly there's a little knot in my stomach. It's familiar from when Maria or Courtney flirts with Michael. It's jealousy. 

But why? I've always known that half of Max belonged to Tess. But he's my brother and a lot of him has always been mine. He's the one who used to wake me up from nightmares—but I won't revisit that. It was a dark time. It took Michael to banish the nightmares, to know I am not that mysterious and shadowy dream-creature-demon called Vilandra. That's why I never considered kissing Michael before today. Well, I mean considered doing it in real life. Daydreaming about kissing him has saved me from MANY a boring Trig class. But I've never actually thought about kissing him for real. It's a dream. Because I could never ever bear to lose him. Literally, I think a part of me would die. Not that a part of me doesn't die every time I see him with girls like Maria Deluca. She's Perfect Parker's best friend, and she's terrified of me. But for all that she's a nice girl.

Back to Max. He's experiencing such a soul-stirring emotion, one that has changed him already from the brother I know. Things will never be the same for any of us. I don't know if I'll ever feel the way Max is feeling right now. But if Michael HAD kissed me—I bar my mind from that road.

I'm not jealous because my brother has Tess now. I'm jealous because even though a lot of people have called me beautiful, no one's ever said it that way. That way means inside and out. I'm jealous because I don't know if I'll ever be knocked over the head with love like that.

I smile a little at Max as he continues to rave about how perfect Tess is. This is the first time in years I've seen Max this excited, this full of life. It's a good sight. I smile up at Michael, who smiles down at me. Not a real smile. Michael doesn't do real smiles. It's a Michael smile, and I know I'm the one of the few people who has ever gotten that smile. And I'm probably the only one who appreciates how much it means. I smile my special smile at him, and we tune Max out. For a second it's just him and me. And confusing as that is, for a little while it's enough that we're in it together.


	18. Chapter 18

Part XVIII A minor mystery!

My little girl is getting married today. Married. Oh lord. I swore to myself I wouldn't get like this. Women cry at weddings. Men get drunk. Seriously drunk. And then the Father of the bride can have a little man-to-man talk with the groom. The way my father-in-law had a chat with me at our reception. And after all, who in this community is going to arrest me for threats or drunk and disorderly conduct?

The church is a positive hotbed of activity. My wife and daughter have been planning this thing for close to a year. They bought dresses; they booked a church and a reception hall. They found caterers and florists. Together they made seating plans and a gift registry. They sent invitations and guest lists. They made a color scheme. And I did my part. I stayed out of the way, kept my son out of the way, and gave the groom advice every groom ought to follow—let your fiancé have her way. 

Chances are she has been planning the wedding for twenty years or more. She does not actually need your input. If she asks you what color flowers you like, tell her you want anything that will make her happy. It might aggravate her, but that's better than her getting flowers so you'll like them (while she hates them) all for the sake of making you part of this wedding. You will not even NOTICE the flowers, while she will obsess over them, and bring it up multiple times over the next fifty years whenever you have a disagreement. Trust me, you will be involved in the wedding in all the important ways. My wife heard me offering this tidbit of wisdom that I gleaned after years of marriage. She was not pleased with my opinion. 

I like to think my future son-in-law appreciated my wisdom. Chances are against it though. He seems to think that he and my daughter have such perfect communication skills that they have evolved beyond such trivial matters. I told him to make sure his best friend's couch always has a spot for him. He will be spending time on it. My daughter has a temper. I wouldn't put it past her to kick him out of his own bed for a night.

But that will be in the years to come.

I enter the little bride room at the back of the chapel. My wife is with her. My wife is normally an…excitable woman. She cries over burning a batch of pancakes. But when an actual tragedy occurs she is rock steady. Apparently it is her hour to be calm. She and my daughter have been alternating since this morning.

My little girl is hysterical (or nearly) over the fact that the florists sent the wrong colored roses. She wanted peach but they sent (Restrain gasps of horror please) salmon. Can you imagine? (I speak with great sarcasm. Personally I couldn't tell the difference between salmon and peach if my life depended on it. But now, according to my angel, the flowers clash with the bridesmaid's dresses. 

Her mother has assured her twice since I came into the room that it isn't all that noticeable and that wrong-colored flowers will not stop the wedding.

To which my (ordinarily) calm child has replied, "It's an omen. It has to be."

"Omens are bigger than flowers. An omen would be a sand storm or a squall. Or a car crash. Or a fire in the church. The cake might've fallen over. That would be an omen. But you're here. And he's here. Nothing will stop this wedding." The sheer determination in the woman standing before me would be enough to stop an alien invasion or a terrorist/guerilla band. Enough to stop them and leave even the hardiest of them cowering until AFTER the wedding.

It's my turn. "You're beautiful." No, my voice did not tremble. Or crack. "I hope that husband of yours knows what a deal he's getting."

She sniffles and beams. "Thank you." She hugs me. I hold her tight. When I finally let her go, she smiles at me. She goes back to her mirror. I study the woman in front of me. I remember her first day of school. It was rougher on us than it was on her. I remember her graduations. (High school and college) I thought I would never be prouder. I remember her first date. I was so afraid that the boy might go to far, too fast, that she wouldn't be able to deal. I remember when she went to the prom. I never thought she could be that beautiful again. 

I was wrong on every count. 

Her hair is gold and shining. The veil on her hair is as delicate as snowflakes. I half expect it to melt in the glow of her hair. Her hair, the color of sunshine will surely dissolve the delicate lace. Her skin is glowing. Her eyes look like candles burn behind them. Her cheeks are pink. Her gown is white, overlaid with gold threads. When she walks she seems to float. Even though I know less than nothing about fashion I know that that dress is a work of art. And I know her well enough to tell that despite her anxiety and her perfection hang up she is happy.

She is happy. I must remember that. It must become my mantra. Otherwise I'll never be able to give up my little girl. It doesn't matter that on an intellectual level I know they're in love. Doesn't matter that he's vowed to cut out his own heart before she sheds a tear on him. It just matters that she's a precious gift that fell into my lap. And that it's my job to protect her.

I look at her, next to my wife. She is our daughter, really and truly. It doesn't matter that we didn't actually create her, or that she didn't come from my wife's body. She is the child of our souls.

I look at her, and don't know whether to be grateful or angry that someone gave her away. I will always be grateful that she came to us, with her brother. ALWAYS. But I have to wonder, how could they give up such glowing, glorious, creatures. Perhaps you value most what you don't have—for a long time we couldn't have children ourselves. Maybe that's one of the reasons we treasure the children we have now so much. But it makes me angry at the same time. It infuriates me that any one would dare to abandon a child as precious as these. It is utterly inconceivable that they would not want to watch her grow, to help her learn, and to see what she has become. But it is so.

She's getting nervous again. "Where is my maid-of-honor?" She asks. "What is taking her so long? I can't get married without her here to see. I've got to plant some ideas in my darling brother's thick head, and seeing a wedding might do the trick."

Her mother, my wife laughs. "Your brother moves at his own pace."

"I know." She pouts.

Just then, the maid of honor rushes in, resplendent in a peach dress. Her hair is golden too. I study the girls as they hug. Isabel is tall and dark eyed. Tess is petite with blue eyes. But there's a glow about both of them. What a pair they make, these two. Alike in some ways, they are. But they are profoundly different in others. But they've been friends no matter what. Even when Max and Tess's relationship hit some bumps in the road. 

Diane's eyes glow every time she tells me about her growing brood. Isabel and Max. Michael and Tess. Through Tess, she feels she has claim to Kyle, and even Maria. 

Speaking of that bunch, Maria just got engaged to a guy named Tony. He's from New York. They met at an audition. Both were pursuing fame and fortune in Broadway musicals. Elizabeth Parker is still in school for her PH.D. Molecular biology, as my daughter tells it. Jeff Parker brags about how smart his girl is without restraint. She had a good thing going for a while with Kyle, but that fizzled. Then she pursued Max. For all her brains, and I don't deny she has plenty, she couldn't see that he wasn't interested? After Max came Alex, but she drove him away with jealousy and insane allegations about trips to Sweden. 

Last I heard Alex found a girl named Leena. Kyle is still alone. He says it's by choice. I don't know though. His sisters are so happy. He must feel lonely sometimes. He teaches English and PE at the high school. He claims Tess inspired him by forcing him to read. I'd like to have seen someone her size make someone his size read—but of course, I might've laughed myself into shock. Tess claims she's found the absolute perfect girl for him, but he's resisting. He pretends to be terrified of finding out what she thinks his taste in women is.

I tune in again, as my wife begins to weep, helplessly fingering the pillow case the veil, a family heirloom, traveled in. She's babbling about how her babies are all grown up and flying away and her nest is empty.

The girls, both laughing and crying simultaneously hug her. They make promises that the nest isn't empty, and the baby birds will stay close. Isabel is joining the law firm after she passes the bar. Michael is an artist. Apparently he can sell his artwork through the medium of galleries and the Internet. So they can stay here. Max is finishing up medical school. God knows where he'll go into practice. But Tess will follow him wherever he goes. And if her career as a children's counselor carries them somewhere else, he'll follow her.

But Diane really, really hopes they'll stay right here.

We all get into place. It's time for my baby's big entrance.

My wife is the first down the aisle. Our son is the one who escorts her. The two bridesmaids go after her. Then it is time for the maid of honor, who offers one more hug of encouragement.

My little girl and I are at the back of the church. It's the last time I will stand with Isabel Evans. We start down the aisle. It is long. Finally, at the altar we stop. I raise the veil, and I kiss my daughter's cheek. My last kiss to the girl who has carried my name. Tears are in my eyes but I don't care anymore. Damn. Max would have to play Butterfly Kisses last night during the rehearsal dinner!

She clings to me for a second. She holds to my hand with one of her own. Then, she reaches one out to her groom.

Her groom looks like he's at a funeral. Only because that's probably the only place he's ever had cause to wear a black suit before this. But when her hand touches his, a smile cracks that face of his. I've never seen him smile like that before. And that's when I know that it's right to let this ray of sunshine pass from my life to his. I pat her hand and sit in the pew next to my wife.

The minister begins. I tune out for a while. But I do hear the words "I do." In my son-in-law's strong voice.

I listen to my daughter's voice. Not a tremble, not a crack, not a doubt. "I, Isabel, take you Michael, in sickness and in health, for richer or poorer, for better or for worse for as long as we both shall live."

At the end, I kiss Isabel Guerin. My little girl is now somebody's wife.


	19. Chapter 19

Part XIX Diane

I hum a little tune as I wrap a present. It's getting close to Christmas time.

In the past, when my children were children, Christmas was Isabel and Philip's domain. They decorated, they wrapped presents, they played Christmas Carols from the day after Thanksgiving until New Years Day. Sang them too, if I remember clearly. Isabel always wanted the perfect Christmas.

Max and Michael used to cower when Christmas came around. They always seemed to want to run for the hills. Michael even got us all (I feel guilty when I admit even me) to call her the Christmas Nazi. I never understood what drove it. I think on some level I didn't want to understand. Philip and I adopted them at Christmas. Do they have memories of other Christmases? Of the ones who abandoned them? Does Isabel try to purge the memories of bad Christmases with one perfect holiday season? Does that mean that I failed my daughter on some fundamental level?

I start to whistle as I tuck in one corner of the package. I press in good wishes as I wrap it. This is a tradition I began years ago. I was giving Michael a coat, and I remember wishing that the coat would keep him as warm as a mother's arms and love. He never said so, but he always seemed warm in that coat. I used to wish that Isabel would remember how much I love her every time she put on a sweater, or that she would smile every time she wore a lipstick. I would wish that a silly book would make Max smile, or that a journal would allow him to rid some of the thoughts that troubled him so deeply. And it worked. Maybe it's because I picked the present with love, and thought about what the receiver really wanted, really needed. Or maybe it was wishful thinking. But I still whisper wishes as I wrap presents and my love in bright holiday paper. It's part of Christmas magic.

What I am wrapping now is a present for Tess. She will one day be my daughter-in-law. Hopefully. That's a long story, but I have time. Do you?

Well, when Tess first came to Roswell, when the kids had children's bodies, even if their souls were older, Max's eyes sparkled. Izzy glowed a little more, and Michael unbent a little. And then she disappeared. Jim was devastated. Amy Deluca was his rock then. She made sure that he and Kyle were fed and clothed. She forced them to keep the house up to human livability standards. She never told anybody what they told her in private.

My own children and Michael were devastated. I remember wishing I could comfort them somehow. Jim was convinced that she'd been kidnapped, but Max and Izzy thought she'd gone of her own free will. Jim and Kyle got one letter. It looked like it had been through the wars and it was very short. "I am all right, but if I stayed you would not be. Ed would hurt you. I will come home when I can. I'm sorry. Tess Valenti. PS I love you." Jim railed for hours when he got that. I remember reading it that first time and weeping. I remember thinking that that little girl was exactly Isabel's age. What if I hadn't found Isabel? What a maniac like the man 'Ed' had found her first? I'm a lawyer, I have been exposed to the lower ranks of humanity but that someone could hurt a little girl like that…

Jim searched for her for years, until the people who can extrapolate what a child will look like five years down the road couldn't do any more. Just when he'd been forced to give up—she reappeared. Out of no where.

Actually, Max told me she took the bus. That thought made me shiver. A sixteen year old who looks like that should not be traveling alone on a bus, waiting in stations in the dead of night. Who knows what kind of sickos she encountered?

But when she came home, Kyle and Jim instantly brought her back to the fold, and into their hearts. Not only them, Amy welcomed her. Maria was a little more reticent, but it came. Max was in seventh heaven, and Isabel and Michael looked as though they'd found a treasure that was missing.

There were stone in the road and bumps in the path. Tess would not talk about where she'd been, except to say, "I'm glad it was me, not you." She'd been hurt, that was obvious. She was skin and bones, though she filled out quickly. Amy once told me that Tess had nightmares. Another trait she shares with Isabel.

Anyway, it seemed that Kyle had been expecting the sister/play mate he remembered. But she had grown and changed. Her eyes would go dark and haunted. She would never turn her back to a stranger, and always sat with her back to the wall at dinner, so she could watch everyone else. The heat was vicious to her. She couldn't seem to keep hydrated. She fainted twice in the first month.

Jim was expecting changes, but they slapped him with the anger of stinging nettles and thorns. He felt guilty. He thought he'd failed her. Every fearful cautious glance she scanned a room with, every shudder reminded him that he had protected the town but not his daughter. Amy won't comment on those times, but they passed. Eventually.

As for Tess herself—well, she got used to shopping malls, though she (to this day) hates having people pressed close on all sides of her. She got used to regular meals, and a roof over her head and covers when she wanted them. Her rough edges have melted away. She is wary about physical contact, though not with Max. Holding his hand has always seemed to be one of the simple pleasures of her life.

As for Tess and Max? Well, Isabel told me once that he had seen her minutes after she got off the bus. (purely by coincidence?) She laughed when she said that Liz Parker had been hanging all over him, and that he had shaken her aside the second he saw Tess. Isabel said that even though she isn't a romantic, she believed Max when he said that something in his heart recognized Tess. She said that there was an old fairy tale she once heard—that when a soul is sent to earth it is split in two. She said that most humans spend their whole lives searching for their other half, without realizing what they are searching for. She said that Tess is Max's other half. Terribly romantic and utterly unrealistic but I wonder sometimes.

They fell easily into a romance. But even if their souls recognized each other, there were pitfalls. This is not a movie, or a fairy tale, it's real life and no relationship or person is perfect. Tess is haunted by demons in her past, as is Max. Sometimes these demons lead to irrational fears, sharpened tempers and tongues… But they always made it up.

Michael and Isabel were married in June. It is now December. I will confess, I always assumed Max and Tess would get married first. Actually, they took off on a road trip to Vegas one summer. Scared the b'jesus out of all us parents and old fogies. I was convinced they were getting married without me there. And Jim and Philip were definitely concerned about their respective little girl's innocence. Amy was absolutely convinced Michael didn't mean Maria's virtue well. I defended him as hotly as I defended Max to Jim. They defended Kyle's intentions with near religious fervor.

The kids came back three thousand dollars richer. Apparently someone had figured out how to beat the casino's blackjack table. They'd been kicked out, but they looked at it as a fabulous adventure.

We grounded them all for the rest of that summer, and they did community service until every nail on Isabel's hands was broken.

They left for college, and suddenly the town was a lot quieter. The houses were silent and things seemed…boring.

Max is in med school now, up to his ears in debt. We paid for college, but med school he's doing on his own. It nearly broke Jim and Amy—three kids in college on the proceeds from a tourist trap and a sheriff's salary. I know it was tough on me and Philip—and we have two lawyer's paychecks. We paid for Michael to go to school, though he keeps trying to pay us back. I've said, "Don't you get it by now? You are one of my children, Michael." I think that finally hushed him…but the stubborn child has become a mulish man.

As for why Max and Tess aren't married yet—I wish I knew. I'm not on the inside of that relationship, so I can't explain it but I think it boils down to three points.

1) 1) Max has gotten too complacent. He's too sure of himself. Tess needs to shake him up a bit.   
2) 2) They are both drowning in debt. Med school for two does NOT come cheap. Neither does a wedding. (She wants to be a psychiatrist, to help children from troubled backgrounds.)   
3) 3) Tess is scared. She is frightened of anything that feels even remotely like it will bind her or restrict her. I think it has to do with those demons in her past. Though I can tell that she loves my son with her whole heart, commitment is not really her strong suit. No, that's not true, they've been living together in sin for a few years now, and they've been dating since high school. Max is probably scared too. He's never been one to go whole hog. He waits patiently, weighs his options, plans ahead. But for Tess—well, for her he would go whole hog. 

She has him hook line and sinker, she just needs to reel him in, when she decides she wants to. Those two are forever, so it doesn't really matter (to them) when they inform the rest of the world. They know it in their hearts.

Michael and Isabel were a surprise to everyone but Tess and Max. Actually, I believe that those two had a hand in pushing Izzy and Michael to their senses. And Kyle, and Maria. Tess can always get Kyle to lend a hand, and Maria was willing to jump in on a good cause. Anyway, it was devastatingly simple. Make Michael jealous. Turn Isabel green with envy.

Kyle took Isabel out for dinner. Maria took Michael to the same restaurant. Each tried to outdo the other with outrageous flirting. By the end of the night sparks were FLYING through the restaurant. By the next day they had realized what was going on, kissed, made up, and threatened Max with bodily harm if he interfered with them again. I don't think they ever got mad at Tess or Kyle or Maria. Maybe a little with Kyle… And if they were mad at Tess they didn't show it. I think they saw that she just wanted them to be happy. And letting her have a hand in it made her month probably.

So Isabel is a lawyer, Michael is an artist, Tess and Max and still students, broke silly. And they're all going to be home for Christmas. Under the roof of the house Max and Isabel grew up in. I couldn't be happier.

By now, I'm wrapping Michael's presents. I began with a sketch pad and crayons. I continued the tradition every year, with markers and paints and canvases and clay and art books and lessons. Every year he gives me something of my family in the medium of the previous year. We have clay sculptures, oil crayons, regular crayons, intricate ink and line drawings, a painting, a charcoal, and even (I still think this is cool) a canister with the faces wood burned on it. Every year it gets a little more elaborate. The year Michael proposed (Of course he proposed at Christmas. I think he thought that would be Isabel's perfect Christmas and that it would quell the quest.) he gave us this painting so lifelike it felt like a living photograph. It even had a tiny ring on Isabel's finger. When she noticed it, he drew her under the mistletoe, kissed her, and offered her a ring. Just a simple gold band but it meant more to her than any other piece of jewelry ever has.

That was last year, actually. This year I'm giving him a kiln. Yes, a kiln. To bake pottery in. Tess is getting a red sweater and a recipe book. My mother-in-law, Philip's mother, an impressive and imposing woman gave it to me the first year Philip and I were married. I'd been feeling on the outskirts of the family since I couldn't have children, but that gesture brought me right to the heart of it. I hope that it does the same for Tess.


	20. Chapter 20

Part XX Diane

It's Christmas Day. Christmas Morning, actually. It's not time to get up yet but it is time to fantasize about the coffee I know Phillip will give me. He always gives me a special brew/blend of coffee at Christmas. Always one is a hazelnut vanilla concoction that makes my mouth water. There are other, experimental ones, but hazelnut coffee means Christmas to me.

Max and Tess and Michael and Isabel came over last night. Max and Tess had traveled ten hours in a car they bought together. Now, I don't mean to sound judgmental, but that car is a piece of work. It's the first time I've seen it. Max's old Jeep, the one he loved so much, finally died and could not be revived. Tess found this one—it's a used car that they revitalized. It was at one time gleaming blue. The paint is a little chipped over the spot that's dented. But the blue paint catches the sunlight and—do not laugh at this. It's true. Every car has a personality. Sometimes you can tell what it is, just by looking at the headlights. The headlights and the curve of the bumper always make me think that a car is smiling or frowning at me. Their car was grinning.

It's an old Pontiac of indeterminate model year, not a 66 Corvette. If that thing ever has an accident it would be like a fiberglass coffin. But Max showed off the car to Phillip and Michael the way Phillip displayed his midlife crisis Harley Davidson. He said the car was a lot like his relationship with Tess. Fifty-fifty, in it together. A few dents may mar the surface, but the engine never gives them trouble. It's a temperamental thing, but with good care, it'll last 300,000 miles.

I didn't care about the car, just that all my babies are home. Isabel and Michael live in town, but I begged them to stay the night here. One last time. We haven't had a family Christmas morning in a while. And I know I should let go, that Izzy is married and grown and someday, probably soon she will have her own babies waking her on Christmas morning…

And if the plan goes as I hope it will Max and Tess will soon have their own cozy little house. Well, they live together now. But I want a wedding. I want to listen to Amy rave about dress shopping with a perfectionist. I want to listen to Max moan about Tess' obsession with gardenias vs. a spray of hydrangeas. I want to see Jim sweat as he walks his baby girl down the aisle. I want to watch the dynamic shift between Kyle and Max, as it shifted between Max and Michael. I want Max and Michael to bond again, over married life, as they did as children, as teenagers, as bachelors. I want to know if it's more stressful to be the mother of the bride (Done that) or the mother of the groom.

I want to be a grandmother. Isabel is obviously my better chance for that. I haven't tried actually talking to her, though I've been dropping hints. They started out as subtle, but well, they're not any more. Want me to tell you about the latest?

Well, it was after Thanksgiving. It was just a random Monday. Izzy had stayed home from work. I was 'just driving through.' I went up and knocked on the door. She was in lounge clothes—for Isabel old jeans and a big t-shirt of Michael's. She invited me in. We drank tea and talked about her day. She caught me up on all those old soap operas we used to watch. Apparently Belle is pursuing Shawn, Bo is in love with Hope, Theresa is chasing Ethan, and Michelle and Danny are muddling through. (Three points for the person who can identify the soaps in question)

After an appropriate chatting time, I said I had to go. I purposely left my shopping bag behind as I drove off. I'm not sure what happened when Isabel opened the bag, but I do know she probably rolled her eyes and wanted to scream. In the bag was the most darling little baby baptism gown. All white and fluffy, made entirely of organza and smocking and lace… It even included these little shoes, with these little bows that are simply TC. (Too Cute) And a bonnet—oh my goodness, how can I tell you about how adorable this bonnet is? I don't think Isabel appreciated this, but I had to express my feelings on the subject.

A few hours later

We're all camped out in the living room. I have that fortifying nectar of the gods, coffee, in one hand. Max's hands are wrapped around his mug as though it is his lifeline. He's sprawled on the couch. Tess is seated on the floor, bouncing. Tess tugs on his flannel pants. "C'mon, sit down here with me." She laughs.

He groans. "Tess, I'm tired…"

"Please?" She says. She has a trick of looking at him that has the same effect as Isabel's icy stare on Michael. It's softer, a pleading thing. Isabel likes to give mock orders. Michael pretends to be afraid of her…but he isn't, not anymore than she's ordering him around. 

Even her orders are phrased as, "Michael, you want to go to the store to get me toothpaste, don't you?" But Max shifts a little, and slides to the floor. He looks almost liquid, as if there are no bones in his body. "Happy?" He murmurs.

"Very." She rewards him with a kiss.

He delicately puts his mug on the floor. "If that spills I'll blame you." He yawns.

She smirks. "How does this work? Do we all just rip in, or does someone play Santa and pass out all the presents one at a time?"

Isabel wiggles, delighted. Michael pretends to shudder. "You had to get her started? You had to ask, didn't you?"

Philip grins. He gets as involved as the kids do. "We start with kids presents. All of you can open up your presents, but be prepared, we take pictures."

"Lots of pictures." Max says. "Then they have to get developed today. Do you know what it's like finding a one-hour-photo in Roswell that's open on Christmas Day that doesn't hear the name Evans and cower underneath the desk?"

Michael snorts. "After we find one, and they develop the million pictures, there's a frenzy of sorting through the pictures, to find the good ones."

"Then we get duplicates of these so called 'good ones'." I tell Tess. "And we make copies. One for everybody."

"And put them in albums?" She asks eagerly.

Isabel looks chastened. "Well, I put some into an album."

"What happens to the rest?" Our innocent asks.

Michael, who has spent as many Christmases here as Max, points behind her to the closet. "There are about eight boxes in there stuffed with pictures."

Tess smiles. "And someday…"

"Someday I will get them in albums." I vow, as my children and husband snicker.

"Right before doomsday." Phillip teases.

The kids freeze for a second, and then smile. They start opening presents, and Phillip's camera starts clicking. I try to just appreciate these few moments, these wonderful family moments. All the kids' presents from Phillip and I are gone, as they begin with presents to Phillip and I. 

Isabel picks one up. She holds it in her hands for a moment, appearing almost reluctant to part with the package. Then she hands it to me. "Mom, I know you have wanted this for a while."

"What is it?" I ask, examining it. From the way she held it, I expected this whatever to be heavier. More loaded with physical importance.

"Michael and I talked about this together." She says. "We've known all along that we wanted this…"

Michael nods gravely. "At first I wasn't sure. I didn't have great role models, and I would never have done to anyone else what was done to me."

"And I helped him realize he would never do to anyone else what Hank did to him." Isabel says. 

"I realized that Hank may've been a bad role model, but between you two, and the Valentis I have a stock of great parents."

At this Tess lets out an excited squeak. My hands fly as I tear the paper aside. Inside, framed, is an ultrasound picture of my grandchild. "Oh." I breathe.

"See, the reason I was home that day, when you came to visit was morning sickness." Isabel chatters, almost nervously. But Isabel, my ice princess, is never nervous. "And when you left the bag, I thought you were saying you knew, but I wanted to wait until I was really sure and Max offered to do this for me…"

"I'm happy for you baby. This is wonderful." I say.

Phillip looks like the rug has just been pulled out from underneath him. He hugs her helplessly, glaring at Michael all the while. I hug everybody, even Tess, just so she knows that she's part of the family too. Once Isabel and I are through an emotional teary moment, I get up to make more tea. I drag Phillip with me. Michael and Isabel take our spots, "to keep them warm." I think Isabel is uncomfortable on the floor, and anything for her comfort…

I can just see Max and Tess over the kitchen island, through the little window. Max is holding out his stocking. I listen closely, barely breathing, though I had intended to speak rationally to and at length with Phillip. He's saying, "Tess, seriously, there's something stuck in here. Why don't you see if you can pull it out for me?"

She gives him a "Yeah right" look.

"Please?" He asks.

She's still looking at him like he has lost his marbles.

"I'm sitting here on the ground for you."

She rolls her eyes. "Don't do that. I'll get it out for you."

She reaches her hand in to draw something out. She stares at it. "Max." She gasps.

"You look like a fish."

I frown. She may be staring a little, but she doesn't look like a fish. It's hardly a loving, romantic, Christmassy thing to say.

She drops the little box and launches herself on top of him. He falls backward onto the carpeting and his coffee spill. I bite back a groan. What's less than one-year-old white carpeting to young love, anyway?

"Are you asking me a question?" She questions.

"If you'll let me up."

She lets him up. "Tess Valenti, in this life, in any life, I love you. I want to spend the rest of the time we have together. I can't give you guarantees, about how long it'll be, a day, a couple months, or 50 years. All I know is I want to spend whatever it is with you."

She looks at him, straight into his eyes. "I don't ever want to disappoint you. I don't ever want to fall short."

"You couldn't. Just by being you, you exceed every expectation."

"You put me on a pedestal. I love it but it scares me at the same time. Will you still love me when I am old and I have morning breath and we're still trying to keep afloat in a river of debt and we have a mortgage and schedules and practices and--?"

"I will." He says. "The question is will you still love me? I make mistakes, I can get arrogant and convinced I'm right. I take myself and my place in this world too seriously. I plan everything out ahead of time, just ask Isabel."

"I don't have to. We've had a few years living together."

"I know you said once—,"

"In the heat of anger."

"Yes. You said that what you felt for me was leftover from…before. That you didn't know if you really loved me, just who you thought I was, and I never even tried to get to know you."

"And you know I didn't mean it."

"I know what you did mean, and from that point of view, you're right. I feel blessed, because that reminded me I have the opportunity to get to know and love you all over again. I am a lucky man, Tess. Will you add one more piece of luck by marrying me?"

She considers him. "You're not just doing this because you feel like it's the next step or because you think you have to, right?"

"No. I'm doing this for us."

"Then, on those terms, I accept." She says. She opens the box, and inside a little diamond burns with its own kind of fire, as she holds her pale hand up in front of her cranberry sweater.

He puts the ring on her finger, and as I turn away, I swear I can hear two little boys voices in the corner of my kitchen, voices out of the past.

_"I'll tell you how it will be." Max's voice is pitched soft, and I have stopped moving, so I can hang on his words. "We will all be older and wiser. Sadder, though we will know more. We will all know more than we want to know." He predicts. "Christmas will be the happiest time. She will be Izzy's best friend, and she'll be able to slow down the Christmas Nazi."_

I try not to snort at the name Michael invented for Isabel during the holiday season. I love my daughter to death, but she does get a bit obsessive.

"It'll be Christmas morning. You will be here with Isabel. You will laugh at her as she opens her presents, because she has to shake them all and try to guess what's inside. But it's a nice laugh. It's a happy laugh. She will give you a present, the last of the kind that you would expect."

Michael's crayons move across the paper, obeying his wishes. I long for a second for such control with my hands.

"And She will be here." Special emphasis on she. A mystery woman. The same that they called the fourth?

Michael looks up.

Max continues. "She will wear a red sweater. I will put something special in her stocking, and she will pull it out and she will laugh and she will cry, because things will finally be the way they should be, the way it seemed that they would never be."

Michael draws on. Max sips some hot chocolate and goes on. "I will be there with her. I will sit on the floor with her, though I don't want do. I'll do it because she asks me too, and I would do anything for her."

Michael smirks, and he is concentrating so hard that the tip of his tongue sticks out of his lips.

"Mom and Dad will be on the couch. Izzy will hand them presents from all four of us, because by then the four of us will all be theirs. They will love us all even more than they do right now."

He talks on, describing a tree, and different decorations. I avert my eyes. The scene is too personal and I have been eavesdropping. I feel guilty, for more reasons than one. First, that Michael was so alone and still a part of my babies, and then that there was a part of all my children that was missing, a little girl with hair like the sun and eyes like the sea and a face like love. And that they have not let me in on this, on this missing parts of them…

I listen again a few seconds later and the boys are gone.

But as I look around, I wonder if my son saw the future all those years ago. This mystery girl from Michael's crayon drawing is here, in a red sweater, with an engagement ring from the stocking. Isabel gave Michael two families, this one where I am the mother and on where she will be the mother. And all four of them are my children.

Nothing's missing anymore. The lost children have come home, to a home cozy and secure with love and Christmas magic.

The End


End file.
